


The Life Debt

by Lady_Frija



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childbirth, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Infidelity, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Life Debt, Medical Trauma, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, POV Hermione Granger, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Redemption, Romance, Ron Weasley Being an Idiot, Slow Burn, Trauma, Unplanned Pregnancy, brief gun violence, train crash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 96,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23801647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Frija/pseuds/Lady_Frija
Summary: A terrifying and insane series of events leaves Hermione Granger and her unborn baby in peril, and she finds herself helped by none other than Lucius Malfoy. But when her unexpected and unlikely rescuer is shot and critically wounded for his trouble by a panicky and overzealous muggle, Hermione is thrust into a position to help and repay him his kindness. That should be the end of it. But Hermione discovers she is as drawn to him as he seems to be for her. Is it their shared trauma stirring up romantic feelings? Or is something deeper at work driving them together?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 591
Kudos: 720





	1. Plans Derailed

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies. So, here's the deal. I have NO idea where this little plot bunny came from. But it would not leave me alone until I wrote it. I know some people don’t like childbirth scenes, but it sets up the storyline, and it will only be present for a chapter and a half-ish, and then it’s on to the rest of the plot. This will be my first, update as I go fic… I've got a complete outline, we'll see where the muse takes me... Mind the tags, things start heavy but the romance is coming, I promise. If you've ever been in any kind of crash as I have, I understand the beginning of this may trigger some readers so keep this warning in mind.

_“How far do I have to go to make you understand?  
I wanna make this work so much it hurts. But I just can't  
Keep on giving, go on living with the way things are.  
So, I'm gonna walk away.  
And it's up to you to say how far.” _   
**“How Far” by Martina McBride**

May 18, 2000

Hermione Granger boarded the last train from Glasgow to London with all the grace and ease her 8-month pregnant body would allow. It had been a long day, and while she had never been opposed to hard days and stacks of work, the natural discomfort of her current state, and the emotional toll this particular trip had cost added to the exhaustive length. At the very least, her appointment had been productive. 

She had left the flat she shared with her boyfriend and presumptive fiancé, Ronald Weasley early this morning, much to her significant others’ chagrin. What had been a planned, discussed and necessary trip to Glasgow had suddenly become yet another cause for a fight. But then again, that was nearly everything these days with Ron. 

Presenting her ticket and finding her seat she settled comfortably by the window, looking out at the passing pedestrians and further beyond at the sun, beginning to set in a striking orange glow. Her thoughts were momentarily interrupted when she saw two familiar figures out the window further down the platform. Draco Malfoy, his shock of pale blond hair a stark contrast against the dark suit was walking beside his young wife, Astoria as she carried the small bundle that was their own baby boy, Scorpius. 

Astoria was not able to apparate easily either, and it was a risk Draco was unwilling to take with her, so it wasn’t a surprise she saw them boarding now. Hermione surmised they must be here visiting healers for additional opinions. Poor Astoria hadn’t looked well since the birth of their son, and it had become known through mutual friends it was the resurfacing of a dreaded blood curse that was sapping her energy. Hermione sincerely hoped, as she lost sight of them, that they had found some answers…

In a few minutes, with a grind and hiss, the train started off as Hermione reached for her beaded bag and found her muggle mobile. Now free of magical establishments she turned it back on, taking a deep breath at the volume of texts and missed calls from Ron. 

Hermione was unsure when exactly the young, idealistic fledgling romance had turned into the constant battle of wills they seemed to be trapped in now, but she was at present finding it especially difficult to deal with. The challenges were numerous, and part of the reason she had coveted the idea of a long train ride alone. It gave her time to relax, to process, to think. But on the downside, she’d done too much of it today and was left feeling number and more irritable than before. 

The two years following the end of the war and Voldemort’s reign of terror had been filled with upheaval after upheaval. Not all negative, but still, chaos was chaos. Their romance quite new, Ron had been irritated that she’d returned to Hogwarts instead of taking the honorary degree and working immediately at the ministry with he and Harry. She had taken her last year of magical education, while simultaneously drafting and lobbying for legislation for the rights of house elves and werewolves, and Ron was drowning his loneliness and sorrows with Lavender Brown.

She should have called it off with Ron then. But she had forgiven him, for one very big reason… 

Upon graduation she had begun work with the department of magical law enforcement as a defense attorney. It was usually rewarding work, and she genuinely enjoyed it, and was pleased with the almost endless opportunity for improvement and advancement of position and greater challenge. 

Then, one potion mix up, a missed monthly cycle, two weeks of morning sickness, and three tubs of butterbeer flavored ice cream, Hermione had accepted she was pregnant.

Maybe it was fear, maybe maternal desire for a stable home, maybe a mixture of both, but she had gone back home to a weeping and repentant Ronald for the sake of this budding new life they had, albeit unintentionally, created. 

She often wondered if she’d made a mistake… 

At first, it was a warm and wonderful and exciting. Rearranging furniture and books to make room for a nursery, comparing paint swatches, and endless but endearing knitting projects from Molly. But the longer time went on, the more problems that seemed to surface. It came down to one major recurring issue. Ron wanted marriage to immediately follow her moving in, wanted her to quit the ministry, stay home and have more children while he worked as an Auror. She however, wanted to keep working in the DMLE as a lawyer and eventual legislator. The seemingly irreconcilable difference between their expectations created no shortage of tension and it had been the subject of their fight just this morning. She still wasn’t sure how a conversation about finding her missing parents had become a parallel to her ‘need to be important’ but they’d gotten there, and then even more bizarrely, her reiteration that she didn’t wish to stay home all day cooking and changing nappies for her entire life, that had somehow become a matter of her insulting his mother. He couldn’t see that just because it wasn’t right for her, didn’t mean it couldn’t be right for someone else.

Added to that she had been trying desperately to find her parents since most of the death eaters had been rounded up by the Aurors… 

The longer time went on, the more stressed she had felt. Her healer at St. Mungoes and her muggle midwife she’d been visiting had both warned her to reduce stress, and she was trying. Honest, she was. She’d off loaded an embarrassing amount of her work at the ministry to other teams for her third trimester, let Ginny talk her into twice a month visits to massage parlors, went to bed early, and ate balanced meals… but the closer her due date crept, the more she and Ron seemed to fight. The last one before she left had ended with her screaming about how all of this was an accident and that if not for the baby, they never would have moved this quickly, and him shouting at her that she didn’t care about him, or their daughter as much as she did her job.

That had been the last straw. 

Hermione had, probably unwisely, stormed out and taken a train to Scotland. The calming clacking of the tracks had been somehow soothing, giving her something methodical and monotonous to focus on. She’d chosen a scenic option, the varying landscape relaxing. It also put her in a better headspace for the meeting with the wizards she met with today. They were attached to a law office in Glasgow, and as far as she could tell made up of former aurors and unspeakable, the magical equivalent of muggle private investigators. But they came highly recommended and as her attention was already split in 4 different directions, likely more, she needed all the help she could get. 

Hermione moaned tiredly, rubbing her tense belly against the mild cramps all the walking had induced. She was looking forward to relaxing at home in her bathrobe, hot tea, soft socks, that book she’d been meaning to read –

The phone rang, interrupting those pleasant plans. Hermione picked it up from where she had laid it beside her and, looking at the name, rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She wasn’t ready for this right now…

“Yes, Ronald.” She answered.

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day, why aren’t you picking up?!” he snapped. 

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. “Because, Ron, I was at a magical establishment. You know the phones don’t work there, I turned it off to save the battery.”

“Well, where are you now?”

“Leaving Glasgow.”

“Glasgow? Well you can’t apparate, you’re 8 months pregnant!”

“I’m taking the train Ron. I took it up here, and I’m taking it back.” She reminded him impatiently.

“I thought I was going to drive you.” He queried, a bit petulantly. 

“I needed some time.” She answered shortly.

There was a long pause and she heard Ron breathing irritably on the other end of the phone.  
“Listen, I’ll be home in a few hours.” She said.

“Fine.” He replied curtly. “I’m probably turning in early. Wake me up when you get home.”  
She heard the line disconnect and Hermione snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the seat beside her with a huff. She could feel her blood pressure rising at just that one interaction. She leaned her head back and started breathing deeply, eyes closed. _We’re stressed because of everything happening so fast. All new parents get anxious when a baby arrives. Things will get better. This is fine._

As if sensing her thoughts, the baby kicked firmly and repeatedly at her ribs. 36 weeks was no small potato, and it was uncomfortable, but it nevertheless brought a smile to her lips. Rose Emily as they had decided to call her was clearly unplanned, but Hermione had settled into anticipation quite quickly. She had never thought of herself as particularly maternal, and the gods knew she’d never have sought out motherhood this soon. She had a plan, a definite plan. School. Career. Settle down. A few kids. In that order. But, as she had been told before by Harry “When do our plans ever actually work?”

She sighed and patted her ever present bump contentedly. “Don’t worry baby girl. We’re going to make it work. For you.”

Suddenly overcome with the tiredness of a long day and discomfort from the cramping, Hermione stretched her feet out across the seat opposite of her, glad the train was far from crowded. Closing her eyes again, her fingers laced over her belly protectively, she listened to the hum of other passengers, and the steady _clack clack clack_ of the train beneath her, letting herself be lulled into a somewhat peaceful sleep.

But that hard-won contentment and peace would be short lived…

It was dark when Hermione was jolted awake just a couple of hours later… At first she thought the violent bounce was mostly her being startled as the train came to a stop in London but as she opened her eyes and blinked, hearing gasps and startled screams, she realized they were not anywhere near London, and still moving, albeit in much more jerking motions. She had just cleared the blurriness of sleep from her eyes and sat up when the train jerked again and began to lean.

A screech of metal, people screaming, sparks visible outside the windows as the train barreled through some unidentifiable obstacle… Hermione’s hand shot out to grab the edge of the seat, reaching blindly for anything to steady herself on. She reached for her bag to pull out her wand, heart pounding, knowing she had but seconds to cast something, anything, but the jump of the train sent her bag flying out of reach. Too late. People, laptops, luggage and everything in between was flying towards her as the car rolled, with barely any time to register or even panic properly. A quick realization they were crashing, a shocked supposition that she and her baby were about to die. She gripped the seat for all she was worth as the inertia pressed her into the wall and window. She cried out in terror and pain as someone slammed into her. She heard and felt glass shatter, the rising cacophony of screams and crunching metal ear splitting. Lights extinguished and Hermione’s view was a swirl of shadows and sparks, the last thing she felt, her body landing hard and unforgiving on the opposite wall of the train car as it tumbled and screeched as the rest of the train caught up with them…


	2. Lost and Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is in deeper trouble than she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Some chapters will be shorter than others, I'm just kind of going until it feels right.

_“That day. The day that you walked through,  
My life’s door.  
Every need that I was praying for  
Was gone.  
Cause I know what I’ve been living for all this time.  
And I swear, I could die right now  
Having lived a life  
And just think  
It was only  
The beginning.” _  
**“The Beginning” Billy Ray Cyrus**

Hermione did not remember everything when she next opened her eyes. She did not remember how far the train skidded and rocked before stopping. She didn’t remember where or when she landed in the mangled car. 

Smoke and darkness swirled in front of her eyes, her ears rang painfully, and her head throbbed with distracting intensity. Sound faded in and out. She was vaguely aware of screams of pain, fear and cries for help. Children sobbed, husbands and wives shouted for each other, and more than one horrifying cry of a baby split the night. 

Sound and sight faded out again as she struggled to get up, managing to get to her hands and knees. She could feel the warm but fresh evening breeze on her face, and she moved towards it with slow, uncertain motions. Pain sliced in her palm… glass… metal… had to get out…

The ground pitched and swayed, the acrid smell of smoke and blood – too much blood - assaulted her senses and as she made it onto softer grass, she doubled over and retched, which only served to intensify her head ache.  
Hermione felt a film settle around her. Gas? Smoke? Her own dulled senses? Breathe, Hermione. You have to breathe. What did the train run on? Would it explode? They had to get away from the wreck! What if people were trapped?!

Hermione turned, thinking to call out, to warn… but she doubled over again, a sharp pain knifing through her belly and she remembered Rose. Clutching her middle and crying out in pain as she knelt in the debris littered grass, Hermione looked around desperately. Help. How to call for help? How far away were they? But thought became difficult, her temples throbbed more urgently, and another wave of pain tore through her belly and she fell to her side on the ground, her body curled in on her baby…

Hermione did not remember rising again and stumbling away from the wreck. She didn’t remember the panicked thoughts running through her addled mind or forgetting where she was and what had happened. She remembered nothing of staggering into the woods, with the intention of finding help, her disoriented state not allowing for logic, or understanding that help would be coming to them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
May 19, 2000 The first thing Hermione noticed when she next opened her eyes was the gentle rays of morning light glittering overhead through the canopy of tree branches. Such a sight under normal circumstances would be a pleasing one, but as she blinked and attempted to move, pain lanced through every part of her body. She winced audibly, and raised a hand to her still aching forehead, memories of what had happened to her beginning to trickle back into her battered consciousness. Her back and arms aching, likely bruised, soreness in her belly, she forced herself to sit up. Where was she? Where was her wand?

Hermione looked around, a growing sense of panic and confusion coming over her. She felt a small jab low in her belly, and she gasped, covering it with her hand. _Oh, thank god_. She sighed. Movement meant Rose was alive at the very least. But that relief did nothing to ease the rest of her disorientation. She was not near the train. She looked around frantically, gasping for air, ground, rocks, trees… she could hear helicopters flying low but quite far away and she looked over towards the sound. If that was the wreck, she had wandered a considerable distance. Had they been this way? Had they missed her? Would they be back? She must have struck her head harder than she thought. How had she gotten this far in her state? By the look of the sun, she had been unconscious here, or unaware for at least 12 hours…

Her heart raced at the possibilities. Anything could have happened! She could have fallen into a body of water and drowned. Pitched down a steep hill and broken her neck or wandered into traffic. And now she was faced with the task of getting back to someone who could get her and her child to a hospital—

Further thought was cut off suddenly as an intense pain gripped her, white hot through her belly. Curling over, hands over her abdomen, she moaned at the force of the pain. _Oh gods, that hurt. That was just a cramp. Expected after such a trying evening. It was certainly not a contraction. Not a contraction at all._

Looking around she knew she could not stay here. Her head still ached but it was not as intense, and she could at least see clearly as she turned in the direction of people. Her dress was torn and muddy, her legs cut by branches and brambles and she had more than a few gashes, one on her palm and a few down her side. She had clearly not had an easy go of it but she was in one piece, and she had to get back. 

Hermione had taken only a few paces when another pain gripped her body. It squeezed her like a vice, pulling across her belly and her lower back and she fell forward onto her knees and one hand, her other hand massaging her stomach as the pain intensified and ebbed while she panted through it. 

_Oh, good gods, no…_

What she now had no choice but to admit was a contraction ebbed, and Hermione rested on her hands and knees gasping for breath. As she felt down her body, her hand froze at the front of her dress, feeling the dampness there and the horrifying realization set in that at some point her water had broken and she had no idea when…

Ok. She thought. Breathe. And count. 

_One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand…_

She had barely counted four minutes when another contraction tore through her and she panted and cried out in pain, her heart thundering with panic. Less than five minutes apart and increasing in intensity. 

_Oh god. No. No no no, I can NOT have this baby here. I don’t know where I am, she’s 6 weeks early, I’m alone, we’re in the fucking woods!_

Tears sprang to her eyes. Oh, this was all her fault! How stupid to get so angry, if she hadn’t let her temper and pride get the best of her she wouldn’t have stormed off, wouldn’t have been by herself, might not even have been on the train. Now she was stranded, injured, and in preterm labor… And apparently the late stages of it.

Stop it! She scolded herself. This isn’t helping!

Gritting her teeth, she straightened. She could still walk. And she had no choice but to move. She had to get to help. Someone. Anyone. Stomach roiling with nausea, temples pulsing with pain she set off in the direction she could only make an educated guess was the correct one. She paused for contractions, doubling over rocks, leaning on trees panting and moaning as she struggled to remember the coping methods in her birth classes. The catch 22 was, she realized, the further she walked to try and get back to a place she could get assistance, she was likely bringing the progress of her labor on faster…

To her increasing fear and despair, Hermione realized soon she couldn’t keep walking as the next contraction brought her to her knees, a sharp pain lancing between her legs. She screamed, her fingers curling tightly into the dirt and grass, her entire body seeming to be gripped in the spasm. She couldn’t be sure, but they seemed closer together and she could feel gathering pressure increasing along with her alarm and pain. 

Struggling for breath, panting through the hurt, Hermione stumbled against a large log for support. Blowing out through her mouth, Hermione leaned against it, spreading her legs and fighting off her damp and alarmingly bloody panties. Her pants and moans turned into sobs as a feeling of hopelessness washed over her almost more intense than the pain. She tried to feel between her legs. She felt nothing evident yet but it couldn’t be long now. She shook her head in desperate denial, arguing with herself that this was assuredly NOT happening, even while she knew it was. 

She was going to deliver her baby alone in the woods… 

Hermione felt dizzy as her heart pounded and she panted for air, terror rising through her body. There was much less time between her contractions. She leaned back on her hands, her breath coming in ragged waves as she felt the next tightening of her muscle beginning, and she threw her head back, her neck scraping against the rough bark of the felled tree and screamed. 

She collapsed weakly as the pain ebbed away and she fought to catch her breath during the brief rest. Her skin felt damp and clammy her body shaking. She wiped furiously at the tears streaming down her face. _Ok. Think. You took the classes, you read all the books. What did they say? This must be transition. Which means she’s coming. Oh god…_

Hermione tried hard to focus. She had no idea how much time had passed, either from waking up to stopping here at this tree, or from stopping until now. Every passing minute felt like an eternity, the contractions growing in severity until she was groaning and shrieking through each one, sure that her body was being ripped apart.

_Alright baby. We can do this._

It was hard to recall her reading through the clenching and tightening in her womb, but she could hear her childbirth class instructors low airy voice lecturing the importance of breaths and focus. But thinking of classes only served to bring up more negative thoughts. She should be at St. Mungoes, with professionals, and Ron and her friends nearby, not here, not like this!

Another pain came over her and she cried out, this time trying to remember the breaths. _Pant pant pant blow… Pant pant pant blow…_ The ache reached its apex, her measured breathing devolving into guttural wails as she fell over the peak and the pain ebbed once more. In calmer moments, not in the middle of a forest, she might reflect that the torture curse felt worse than this. But right now, in the moment, she didn’t give a hippogriff’s arse.

Hermione’s head snapped upward as she heard the growing closeness of running footsteps through the underbrush. Someone was there! She gasped, wide eyed in relief. There were no words to describe the tear-jerking solace that swept over her when she heard a panicked voice calling through the trees. “Astoria? Astoria is that you?!”

“No, I’m not Astoria, but please, I need help!” she screamed desperately.

 _Astoria?_ They knew Astoria! Someone was there and they were a wizard! She heard their gait increase in speed and grow still closer. Maybe they would be ok after all…

But that brief hope was soon dashed when the figure appeared through the trees and stopped frozen several paces away. She looked up through the sweat, tears and exhausted bleariness. She recognized the tall, imposing figure, the fitted robes, the piercing silver grey eyes and the long pale hair. The gruff, but familiar voice breathed in shock. “Ms… Granger?”

Hermione was looking up into the paling face and cold but thoroughly stunned eyes of Lucius Malfoy…


	3. Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gives birth to her daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much longer chapter, there didn’t seem to be a good place to stop… Sorry if there are any geographical inaccuracies, I’m going off maps and train routes. Also, I have faith in you, my readers. But because of the times we live in it must be said: I am not a medical professional. I’m a woman. I’ve had a baby. But every woman, pregnancy, baby, labor and delivery is different. I’m just an author with a story to tell and access to google, so please don’t take fiction as medical advice or hard fact. That said… moving on to the story.

_“I'm sorry that I hurt you.  
It's something I must live with everyday.  
And all the pain I put you through,  
I wish that I could take it all away.  
I've found a reason for me,  
To change who I used to be.  
A reason to start over new…  
And the reason is you.” _   
**“The Reason” by Hoobastank**

Hermione was exhausted. The heat of the progressing day was coating her already spent and exerted body in a sheen of sweat. She was laying in leaves and tree bark, bleeding, panicking and wracked with tumultuous agony. Given her physical and mental state, the first thing to pop into her head was what came out…

“Oh god, you, why did it have to be _you_?!” she moaned.

Lucius Malfoy was still frozen where he’d entered her small somewhat clear space. His outer robes, leather half boots and trousers were dusty and pricked with briars, his usually immaculate pale hair slightly disheveled, and he looked like a man that had been walking a long time. At her question, he shook himself out of whatever dark thoughts were plaguing him at his discovery of her, and he met her pained eyes. 

“I… am asking myself the same question at this moment.” He said, sounding shell shocked. “How… how did you come to be here?”

“The train that crashed… I was on it. I think I hit my head, I must have wandered away. I can’t remember” She panted. “What are you doing here anyway?!” she asked in confusion. Of all the men to walk into all the chunks of woodland in all of the United Kingdom at all the times….

“Looking for my son and his wife and child. They were on that train as well and I didn’t trust muggles to find them.” He showed her a leather pouch full of some powder before pocketing it. “I found two magical signatures with this and assumed it was them but—”

He trailed off as Hermione screamed, another spasm tearing through her. She panted and moaned through the long and intense contraction and slumped tiredly against the tree, Lucius looking ill.

“—apparently it was not.” He finished blandly, his eyes sweeping over her numbly, taking in the reality of the situation.

She was having a hard time adjusting to the predicament as well. Of all the luck. Of all the blasted, bloody, piss poor luck. 

“How far did I wander away?!” She gasped as the contraction released her. 

“About two miles.” He answered, taking a few steps forward. 

“TWO MILES?! Oh god.” she moaned, throwing her head back, hand on her head, the increased pain and intensity of labor had set her head pounding again. “You’ve got to be kidding. Ok… ok... Alright, look. Can you… apparate back or something, find someone at the crash site and tell them I’m here, I’ve lost my wand in the crash I think…”

“Regretfully not, I’ve been walking the surrounding woods since last night.” He answered. 

“How do you not have your wand, you’re Lucius Malfoy!!” she asked desperately, lips parting in shocked despair.

Lucius strode forward and knelt down beside her, face drawn in concern, an emotion she would not have thought to see on his face. “It was taken from me as part of my ministry pardon.” He said. “A caveat you yourself suggested at my trial if you recall.”

Ugh. Of _course_ it fucking was. What beautiful irony was this?

“Yeah well, I thought it was a better option for your family than --- aaargh! Jail!!”

The last word was screamed as the next contraction swept over her. Squeezing her eyes shut, struggling to breathe, she leaned forward, feeling almost pulled into herself by the force of it. He moved his hand towards her with an awkward hesitation, and touched her wrist and in her agony, she seized it, squeezing his arm hard as she struggled through.

Lucius, if it was possible, paled even further when it was over. “That was an extremely short rest interval.”

“You think?!” she shrieked, panting for breath. “Ohhh, no, no, this is too fast, too soon. I need to get to the hospital… this cannot be happening. She cannot be born here…”

“How long have you been like this?” he asked stiffly.

“I was feeling pain after the crash…” she moaned. “I was out of it and I guess wandering, but I lost consciousness at some point and I woke up a few hours ago already in labor! I tried to walk back but it got too hard, and I noticed bleeding.”

His eyes widened. “Bleeding? How much bleeding?”

She swallowed hard, tears of fear stinging her eyes. “Too much I think… Listen.” She panted desperately. “Its been really intense for a while now which I think means she’s coming.” 

“What, NOW?” he asked. 

“Yes, now!” hands over her belly, she fell back, moaning with fatigue. “I can tell…”

Lucius shot to his feet and paced briefly, in short halting steps, burying his face in his hands. “Aargh!” came a muffled shout before he snapped his head up, running a frustrated hand through his hair, screwing his eyes shut and huffing. “Ahh… alright. FUCK! Alright! Let me have a look.”

“Are you out of your mind?!” she snapped, horrified.

“I assure you!” he snapped back. “I take _absolutely_ no pleasure in this, but as there is blood, and that is usually indicative of a problem, then perhaps _someone_ should try and find out the severity of said problem?! And unless you would like to appeal to that squirrel over there, I am all you have.”

Hermione met his eyes, and she felt the sting of tears again. He was right. 

“Aargh! Alright!” she screamed again as another spasm wracked her tired body. Gods she wished she had paid more attention to the emergency childbirth chapter… “Fine!”

As the contraction increased in intensity, she shifted her body as he hesitated and knelt down in front of her, swallowing hard as he reached out and touched the hem of her dress. “Forgive me.” He said.

Breathless and groaning primally, she nodded, heat flooding her cheeks in humiliation as he slid her dress up towards her hips and bent low. Hermione leaned back, her face turned up to the sky as she focused on riding out the pain as he continued his incredibly basic examination. As the pain finally ebbed she came back into herself, aware. His hands were gentle on the inside of her thigh, and she closed her eyes trying to imagine she was back home in bed with her midwife attending, or at St. Mungoes in the maternity sector being looked at by a healer. But it didn’t work. His hands were too undeniably male for the first escape, and the persistent smell, sound and feel of the trees, leaves, dirt, and birds made her feel too grimy and exposed for the second.

“Fuck.” She heard him mutter. 

“Mr. Malfoy… what is it?” she asked, looking down at his bent head with a flash of panic.

“There’s bleeding, but I can’t see her yet.” He looked up with a frown. “And given my current position, perhaps you should call me Lucius.”

She laughed in panting, gasping breaths but then the short-lived brevity fled and the tears she had felt stinging her eyes fell from beneath her lashes. “Lucius. How much blood?”

“Too much.” He said quietly meeting her eyes, agreeing with her previous guess. He patted her hand empathetically as she burst into tears and then straightened, reaching into his robes and pulling out a small leather bundle. 

“What is that?” she asked as he laid it on the ground, unsnapped the brass buckle and unrolled it to reveal a modest magical first aid satchel.

“When I realized what had happened, I came prepared to find Draco or his family injured.” He answered looking through the few potion bottles. “Especially when I arrived and was told they were unaccounted for when they compared the recovered passengers to the tickets… I came prepared for related injuries so I’m afraid most of it will be useless to you, but this…”

He lifted a potion bottle with dark red liquid. 

“This will stop the bleeding and help replenish what you may have lost.”

She took the vial he unstopped and drank it, her mind spinning. She felt a burning tingling deep in her belly as if something were knitting together and her head cleared slightly… but a sob rose from her throat as she swallowed, feeling thoroughly overwhelmed. Fear, exhaustion, humiliation, and pain all warred within her, and she took several breaths struggling to stave off the rising threat of a full blown panic attack, which she knew – though she was no expert – would not help her in the slightest.

“It could be anything.” She sobbed. “Something could be wrong with her. Or me. Something could have happened in the crash…”

Lucius took the empty vial. “One thing at a time.” He said quietly. “When did you last feel her move?”

“When I woke up out here, but then the contractions got intense and I didn’t notice… Didn’t think to try…”

“Shh.” He said with an astonishing gentleness, covering her hand with his. “That’s something.”

Hermione looked up and met his ice blue eyes. She didn’t know how to ask for his help. She didn’t know how to do any of this. She was about to speak and then moaned as she felt the next contraction rising, gathering traction and intensifying and Lucius offered his hand again as she screamed.

She released him when it was over, gasping for breath as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his bent knee. She looked up to see him surveying her intently, an unreadable but tumultuous expression on his face. 

“Do you think…” she began. “You might be able to get back… find a paramedic or someone who can call for help.”

“Even at my best it would take time to get back there. Then to get help back to you… I don’t think you have that kind of time.”

Hermione closed her eyes shaking her head. She didn’t think so either. She could already feel the overwhelming need to push, and though anything could happen, there was no guarantee of how long it would take. And she felt absolutely desperate at the thought of being alone. She could start to bleed again, she could pass out, and then what if Rose needed intervention and no one was there? At the very least he could take her baby and go, and one of them would have a chance.

“You’re willing to stay here and help me.” She asked, a bit of disbelief evident in her voice.

The normally put together and aristocratic wizard looked terrified and frankly, a bit ill. But he nodded. “Yes… But it is your decision to make, what do you want me to do? Either way, I’ll try and make you more comfortable before I go.”

The offer of help and comfort was surprising given their identities, but she wasn’t about to…. What was that expression? Look a gift horse in the mouth? Hermione swallowed hard, her throat a bit raw from her panting and screaming. The idea of Lucius Malfoy doing this with her was an odd and frightening one but as she felt her baby’s approach more frantically with each contraction, the idea of doing this alone was more frightening. 

“Stay.” She said shakily, embarrassed by the fear and vulnerability she could hear in her own voice. 

He heard it and saw it as well, and his eyes filled with a concerned warmth that caught her off guard, before he stood nodding slowly. His hands moved to his throat and he unsnapped his travelling cloak, laying it beside her and then bending down. “Arms around my neck.”

She obeyed, linking her arms around him as his own arms slipped under her thighs and back and gently lifted her onto the fabric. “Its not much.” He said. “But there are cooling charms on it for summer, it may help.”

She nodded breathlessly as he let her go, already feeling her body temperature begin to cool and she braced her hands on the soft fabric. It wasn’t a thick garment, but it was an improvement over the twigs, dirt and rough leaves biting into her legs. 

“There was something about one of the train cars disconnecting and rolling,” he told her as he unbuttoned and removed the fitted outer robe and laid it aside. “and due to the water nearby they’re expanding their search with those flying machines.”

“A helicopter?” she asked hopefully.

“In the opposite direction, but if they come this way, I may be able to get their attention.”

It was a small hope, but hope nevertheless. She was about to speak to ask how close to London they had actually made it but was cut off by another contraction. She grit her teeth, feeling his hand at her back as she screamed and he spoke soothingly. She felt frozen, couldn’t move, breathe, could barely think of anything beyond the pain. She clutched the hand not caressing her aching spine, and found herself sagging against him as it faded away. 

“You’re holding your breath, breathe.” He told her, his voice soft as he moved away and turned his attention back to the leather satchel of potions and salves. 

She hadn’t even realized she was. “This is insane.” 

He looked up at her curiously. 

“We had a plan.” She said, still panting in the aftermath of the contraction. “We rehearsed it. We took classes. We knew exactly what we were going to do, and how we were going to do it. Now I’m here, in the woods, no way to even sterilize anything, and I have no idea what to do!”

She laughed despite herself, short breathless snaps of laughter, panic obviously turning to hysteria. Or, was it hysteria if you were aware you were becoming hysterical? That thought made her laugh too for some reason. 

“And!” she dragged breath into her overtaxed lungs, “I’m with _you_ of all people!”

Laughter turned to tears again and she suddenly felt his hand under her chin. “I will not hurt you.” he said as he tilted her face up to look at him. “And if you don’t believe me… I will simply remind you that it serves no interest of mine either to harm you or leave you stranded.”

If she weren’t so fearful for her baby and in so much pain from labor, it truly could have been funny. Maybe if it were a sitcom, happening to someone else… But it wasn’t someone else, it was her. And it wasn’t a made-up sitcom trope, it was very real. She was in the woods, in the late stage of labor, holding hands with Lucius fucking Malfoy as he steeled himself to help her deliver her baby. What insane yet legendary misalignment of stars and planets had caused her to end up here?

Another contraction tore through her body and he paused, taking her hands as she struggled through. When it was once again over, Lucius set about rolling up and securing the sleeves of his white button-down shirt. He tied his hair back out of his face, pulled a tie from the cloak she was resting on and his fingers brushed her neck as he tied her sweat matted hair back as well. That small gesture of consideration startled her, but she looked up into his eyes and saw fear and something akin to panic reflected there, his jaw tight. But the aristocratic Slytherin that he was would not allow him to lose control or descend into emotionalism.

She breathed, the air from the light breeze ghosting across her flushed skin soothingly as he started pulling bottles from the satchel and examining them. Somehow watching the simple, measured gestures he made calmed her. She focused on his face, his eyes, watched his hands as he made what little preparations were possible. The panic she’d felt started to melt into a numb resignation. This was happening and there was nothing to do about it.

He took a somewhat larger bottle from the leather bag and pulled a folded handkerchief from his pocket, pouring some onto it to dampen the fabric and then washing his hands as best he could. He held the bottle to her. “Water. If you want it. Though I recommend a small bit.”  
She nodded and took it. She was hot, her tongue dry and throat sore. She wanted to gulp it but knew it might be counterproductive and took small sips to soothe the thirst. Recapping it and laying it down, she looked up as Lucius knelt down in front of her again. With a whispered request for permission and a word of warning that she appreciated, he took the damp cloth and gently cleansed her center and the inside of her thighs. 

“I don’t see any more bleeding.” He told her quietly. “Here.” He picked up another vial. “This is not made for this so I’m afraid it won’t give you complete solace, but it may help some.”

“I’ll try anything.” She breathed, taking the vial and drinking the pain relief potion. He was right. It wasn’t made for this and it didn’t do much to dull the next contraction but at the very least it seemed to soften the edges and gave her some mental clarity. 

“Better?” he asked, pulling a jar of salve from the satchel beside them.

“Thank you.” she nodded. 

“I’m sorry, I have nothing better, more… targeted.” He said. “I came prepared for broken bones, exsanguination, revival, maybe even severed limbs but this I confess was not in the realm of possibilities of my planning as I left my house.”

She smiled weakly watching him dip his fingertips in the crème colored, earthy smelling salve. “I’ll bet.”

“This is for external injuries.” He explained taking her hand and turning it out to the sore gash in her palm and began gently smoothing it over the wound. His hand hovered questioningly over her dress where blood had seeped through from her deeply scraped side. “May I?”

She nodded, flexing her numb hand, looking at the less swollen and angry flesh as the concoction worked its magic. Lucius lifted her dress, only as far as to expose the abrasion – or more severe judging by the grimace that crossed his face and she grit her teeth with a hiss as he spread the salve over the length of her ribs that took most of the salve. 

Soon that pain faded as well, and Hermione leaned back in relief. Lucius began doing the same on her shins where she had stumbled and scraped along the rocks and briars, and lord knows it shouldn’t, but his hands felt soothing, running firmly but gently down the length of her bruised and cut legs. 

As he focused on his current task, Hermione rubbed her hands over her belly in a bit of confusion, it felt as if the constricting spasms had been slowing, a sensation she hadn’t been prepared for and she started counting in her head once more. 

Looking up from looking between her legs once more, Lucius touched her knee. “I can see her.”

Hermione shook her head. “Somethings wrong… nothing is happening.” 

“Shh. It’s alright.” He assured her at the panic in her voice. “It happens. Just use it to rest. You’ll need your strength when it starts again.”

“Are you sure?” She asked hesitantly.

“Narcissa’s midwife used to call it the rest and be thankful stage… your body is only adjusting.”

Hermione smiled and licked her lips, the action reminding her of her parched throat and cracked lips. Lucius noticed and held out the bottle again and she took a small sip, the water feeling cool as it washed over her tongue.

“I’m sorry.” She said, watching him wash his hands again with the water, and tear a fresh cleaner part of his robes to use. “I’m sorry. You were on a mission. You must be worried out of your mind for your son.” 

He paused and looked up at her. “My son is strong and clever.” He said. “The fact that I have searched through the night and morning and found none of them tells me they may be safe already…”

She bit her lip. “Could St. Mungoes tell you if they had come in?”

There was a long pause as he rested his forearm across his knee and glanced upward at the clouds before answering. “St. Mungoes has a standing order not to give me information.”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but closed it again. She had no idea tensions between Draco and his father were so high. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Now. No more of this. You’ll need to be focused and calm…” 

“Calm?” she asked skeptically. Focused, breathing, alive, sure… but she wasn’t sure she could feel truly calm in this situation.

“Yes, calm.” He insisted. “So, do whatever you need to in order to accomplish this, yell at me, scream, curse, hit me, I don’t care. Just keep breathing. You’ve got to be here, in this moment…”

She shook her head and reached for his hand which he willingly gave. She didn’t feel violent like women seemed to in the movies. And at least now she felt she had a rest. 

Lucius suddenly frowned. “Here. A rotting stump makes for poor support.” He rose from where he was kneeling, and came to sit down beside her, angling his body. “Lean against my chest. You can close your eyes and forget that its me.”

Too weary to even consider otherwise, she leaned back into his embrace. Instantaneously her back ached less. Yes, he was far more comfortable than the tree, her head resting under his chin. The solid, muscled frame of his body was reassuring, the touch of a warm living person relaxing her.

She laughed despite her discomfort. “That won’t work, your voice is too recognizable.”

“I’ll go mute then.” She felt him smirk against her temple. 

“No, don’t.” she said quickly. “Your voice is strangely soothing.” She felt him shift as he looked down in surprise. Her cheeks flamed. “I mean… your talking gives me something to focus on between –“ she cut off as she felt the warning tightening in her womb creeping up. “Ohh!” she moaned, as the pressure ramped up. “Ohhh, Lucius…”

He stopped and shifted closer, taking her hand as she gasped and moaned, wailing in pain at the fresh spasm. “Does anything feel different?” he asked perceptively. 

She grimaced as she leaned back, gasping. “Really, _really_ , feeling like I should push.”

“Do what feels right.” He urged. “But don’t burn your energy in between.”

She nodded quickly, closing her eyes and taking slow breaths. The urge was strong, but she felt frozen. Reason had seemed to flee her entirely, abandoning her to the waves of anxiety, pain, fear and distress. The spiraling feeling of helplessness only solidified the gnawing fear that this was too much, that Hermione Granger had found something that she absolutely could NOT do…

He must have seen the doubt and anxiety on her face for she felt him take her hand. She opened her eyes and met his, finding them soft and kind and if she had had the presence of mind or time to be mystified, she would have been.

“You know what to do, even if you don’t think so.” He assured her. “There is not much I can actively do. But you are not alone. I’m here.”

Hermione tried to smile and nodded. He was correct, there was not much for him to do. But his presence was somehow comforting. The pressure built in intensity and was swiftly becoming intolerable and she clung to him until it was over.

She tried to relax, as he brushed stray strands of hair out of her eyes. After a few moments of rest, she tensed another wave coming. 

“Are you ready?” he asked, sensing her tension, extending his hands, palms up.

She was most assuredly _not_ ready, but it would be happening anyway, and she took his hands, crying out against the rising pain and she braced herself against him. He was conveniently sturdy as she began to push with the contraction. Moaning and grunting, she bore down, gripping Lucius’ hands for leverage until it was over.

She couldn’t gauge how long they were like that, and she lost count of the contractions. Pushing somehow eased the pain, or perhaps it was her subconscious telling her it was nearly over. The hysteria had passed, melding into a more focused determination. Perhaps because she had something to do instead of feeling like she was being dragged along by an uncontrollable undertow. 

“It’s alright.” She heard him mutter after a particularly difficult spasm that left her shaking and drained in his arms… “You’ve been doing beautifully.” She melted into the gentleness in his hands as his palms slid over her heated shoulders, working the tense muscles, dabbing the damp handkerchief over her forehead.

She didn’t know what parallel universe she had fallen into that she could draw comfort from Lucius Malfoy of all men. But his presence was faithful, his support unfailing, and he did whatever she asked, and anticipated her shockingly well as she worked through each wave. He left her only intermittently to kneel between her parted thighs and see how she was progressing before returning.

“How long has it been?” she moaned, her head falling back against his shoulder after the pain came and ebbed once more. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“About 30 minutes.” He told her, looking at his pocket watch. “She’s getting close, hang in there.”

_Thirty minutes? That was all??_

He brought the flask of water to her lips and she took another small sip before he wet his hand and ran it over the back of her neck and the front of her breastbone. She sighed at the cooling kiss of liquid and closed her eyes. _Almost there._ She had been chanting that in her head like a mantra. But that reality brought with it a renewed sense of fear.

Even if her baby was alive, one or both of them, were going to need help. Neither she nor Lucius had wands to apparate with. Lucius might be able to carry her a short way but not two miles, and she’d slow him down if he tried to help her walk and put Rose at risk. Would he even be willing to do it?

He was between her legs again, kneeling, head bowed as her body granted her another short respite. The pain and pressure began again all too soon and he spoke soothingly, pressing gently to massage the over tightened flesh between her thighs and she was grateful he thought to do it. He was focused on his task, as she was on hers. The embarrassment of the situation had long since faded. Her birth class instructor had been correct it seemed… once you were in labor you likely didn’t give a flying fuck who saw you naked… 

“Mr. Malfoy…” she said quietly as the last pain faded away. “Lucius…” 

He looked up quizzically.

“You could have walked away when you saw me and abandoned me. But you didn’t… you stayed.” She swallowed hard, unsure what to say. “Whatever goodness is in you that made you help me… I’m begging you… if… if she’s alive when she’s born… Please take her. Leave me here and run. Get her to help as quickly as you can. She’s early… and she could have been hurt… she’ll need it. Please.”

Hermione bowed her head in shame as she wept, her body shaking with her increasingly distressed sobs. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up as she felt his hand at her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears.

“I know you think very little of me, and with reason…” Lucius said, staring into her eyes intently. “But I am not as cruel or as monstrous as you think. I will do everything I can to get help for both of you.”

“You’d have killed me at the ministry” she said hesitantly, doubt creeping in the cracks her vulnerabilities left in her proverbial armor.

He breathed out slowly and bowed his head briefly, a shadow of regret crossing his expression. “That was war with the choice between you and my son. You are not my enemy here. No begging is necessary. I’ll help you, and your daughter. You have my word. For whatever its worth…”

“It’s all I have…” she said, taking a steadying breath and wiping the trail of tears from her cheek. 

Thought became more difficult, more fractured as the next contraction took over. Lucius stayed where he was, and though as Rose’s birth drew nearer and she knew why he was more attentive now, she missed his firm presence next to her, the assurance of his grip and the gentle pressure of his jaw against her forehead… She was getting tired. She had no real awareness of how long she had been pushing, but every minute felt like an eternity. She didn’t think it was the best position to be in, but her body insisted. So, after what felt like another particularly brutal contraction that didn’t feel like it let up much at all, she laid down on her back, gasping, curling her hands into the cooling fabric of the cloak beneath her. She felt Lucius’ hands on her trembling legs as he encouraged her. 

“She’ll be here soon.” He assured her. “Use my knees to brace yourself if you need to.”

It did seem to help. She pressed her feet against his thighs while he knelt there, leaving his hands free if needed. He was practically immovable and remained stationary even when she was staining with the contractions, giving her much needed leverage. When she was again given respite, he caught her off guard with a softly spoken question. 

“Did you choose a name?”

She smiled wearily, blinking salty stinging sweat from her eyes and nodded. “Rosalie Emily. Ron’s grandmother and my mother’s names.”

“Lovely. What color did you paint the nursery?”

She gave a panting laugh at the absurdity of this powerful dark wizard asking about paint swatches while he was currently kneeling between her legs, intently examining her exposed nether regions. But she knew what he was doing. She knew he was keeping her distracted, keeping her thoughts off the fears nagging at her brain likely visible in her eyes, fear of the mortal peril she knew she and her child both could be in. 

“Sunshine yellow.” She said. 

It worked to a degree as her mind turned however briefly to those small little details that not so long ago had been such a source of happiness and excitement…

After only a few moments, pain wracked her again, the pressure intensifying further if it was possible, nearly unbearable, each wave stacking upon the last, leaving her breathless. Her already frayed nerves were stripped. Her body felt stretched beyond its limit, an ungodly burning as if someone had taken a splitting maul and hit her between her thighs. 

“Here she comes sweetheart.” She heard Lucius say intently. “Just a bit further and you’ll have her.”

Her forearm thrown over her eyes in exhaustion, she continued to push through the tearing, burning pain. She could feel her baby there, straining to press through. Lucius leaned forward, using his cleaner outer robes to ensure Rose wouldn’t fall.

“Oh god!” she screamed, during the next equally distressing wave her legs trembling with exertion. “Oh god, I can’t do this!”

“You _are_ doing it.” He replied simply. “It’ll be over soon. Keep breathing.”

Breathing. It was such a simple basic need for life, and to have someone reminding her to do it should be a source of redundant annoyance. And yet here she was, needing to be told to breathe. She stopped holding it, once again not realizing she was, following his prompting as she pushed. The burning sensation reached its zenith and Hermione curled forward into her exertions, feeling she was being torn apart... 

“Alright, wait.” He urged. He kept his voice even but she could see the anxiety in his face. “Not too fast.”

She nodded. “Ok.” She panted; eyes shut tight as she breathed through the overwhelming need to push. She caught her breath, ready for the next uptick in pain and she pushed again.

“There!” he encouraged her as she screamed. “Nearly there! Once more, love, you can do it.”

“No, no, I can’t.” she shook her head. “Oh god it feels like I’m getting torn apart!”

“I know, but you’re not, you’re ok.” He said quickly. “She’s almost here darling, you’ve gotten this far, you can do it!”

At his encouragement, Hermione kept pushing, screaming and arching her back, her hands twisting the cloak beneath her trembling frame, feeling as if she were truly ready to come apart at the seams and she knew it was really almost over. Adrenaline gave her a fresh wave of strength and rising on her forearms, leaning into the contraction, she gave every last bit of power she had left, shrieking as she strained.

With some relief she felt a final pull of resistance, and then a different sensation as the contraction faded once more. Gasping and sweating she slumped backwards onto the ground again.

“There. You’re ok.” Lucius said, and she could feel her baby shifting as he supported and guided her out. “That’s it. Once more, Hermione!”

With a strangled, groaning scream of desperation she gave one last heave and felt her baby slip free in a rush. She collapsed in exhaustion, panting and gasping, shell shocked, barely able to believe she’d done it, her legs trembling violently as she laid waiting for the cry.

But there was only silence…

“Lucius?” she called breathlessly as she shifted to look to where the man was still kneeling between her legs.

He held the baby in his arms, head angled down, his outer robes wrapped around her, neither of them moving. Rose still and quiet, Lucius staring down in pale faced shock.

A numb coldness fell over her like a thick chilling fog. “What? What’s wrong?!” she cried out.

Hermione felt tired, exhausted, her vision began to blur at the edges. She tried to lift her arms to reach for the baby, but she couldn’t move. Her head lolled to the side, her neck horribly unresponsive and she gasped in fear. “Lucius…” she gasped again. “Lucius, she’s not crying. What’s wrong. What’s wrong?!”

He had seemed momentarily frozen but then she saw him bend forward over Rose, clutching her to his chest.

“Lucius?!” she cried out, panicked tears falling down her cheeks. “Please tell me-“

“She’s not breathing.” He said flatly. “There’s no pulse.”


	4. No Good Deed...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione isn’t out of the woods yet, and Lucius finds himself in unexpectedly dire straits. Will help arrive in time to save them both?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for all the comments, they are the juice to my inspiration. Please keep them coming. A bit shorter chapter but I wanted you to have something and not have to wait too long – I know most of you were anxious for little Rose’s fate. I’m going to try really hard to update every week, every 2 at the most. The story is pretty much fully outlined, just got to do the writing. Please don’t virtually kill me for the end of the chapter – I promise it won’t always be this intense! Mind the tags. That’s it for housekeeping, on to the story. Enjoy!

_“You're shattered. Like you've never been before.  
The life you knew in a thousand pieces on the floor.  
And words fall short in times like these.  
When this world drives you to your knees.  
You think you're never gonna get back to the you that used to be.” _  
**“Tell Your Heart to Beat Again” by Danny Gokey**

Not breathing. No pulse.

There was absolutely no adequate description available to describe how she felt at those words. Her visions swam, her brain all but shutting down completely and her heart pounding erratically. A cold numb fog washed over her, her stomach rolled in nausea as she felt like it physically dropped out of her body. Her limbs, already weak from exhaustion turned limp and liquified.

“Oh, no!” she screamed, “No, no! No!”

Lucius shook himself out of his own shock and bent over her again. “Maybe its not been long… Maybe…” 

There was no syringe, no suction, no wand to do it magically. Hermione’s heart was pounding almost painfully, with such force it made her dizzy. He turned her over, angling her body along his knee, patting her back firmly, fluid leaking from her nose and mouth almost immediately but she remained still and unresponsive.

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand sobbing into her palm. _No. Oh gods no._

Reaching out a hand and dragging the leather bag closer, the vials clanked together as Lucius searched through them for whatever one that he was obviously looking for. She barely dared hope yet clung to it like the last bit of firm ground as she dangled over an acromantula pit.

He brought the vial to Rose’s lips, coaxing her mouth open with his thumb to pour it in. He gently massaged her throat, her chest, her tiny limbs, moving the potion through her body... 

“Come now, little one.” Lucius murmured, and when a few moments passed without any change, bent over her, breathing into her mouth.

Hermione couldn’t focus. Pain knifed through her chest, stealing her breath her sanity, her very life, and all she could think was her baby was dead, all because of a stupid arrangement of circumstances. Oh, _why_ had she gotten on that train!?! If only she’d stayed awake, she could have done something, cast a spell, kept from rolling, something, anything! But she—

Suddenly Rose sputtered and coughed, her body jerking once with surprise. Hermione gasped, her expression mirroring the elated relief flooding Lucius’ face. He turned her over again, patting her back, more fluid draining from her lungs as she coughed. The coughs and gurgles slowly turned to cries, weak at first and then growing in anger, her previously pale and blue tinted face turning shades of purple and red, scrunched up and fists balled as she began to wave and flail.

“Oh, thank god.” Hermione shrieked, tears of body shaking relief pouring down her cheeks. 

Lucius looked up smiling with an air of shock, a breathless laugh of relief on his lips, Hermione sobbing in anxious anticipation as she looked at her daughter. He shifted closer, cautious of the cord still anchoring her baby to her own body, laying her in Hermione’s arms and covering them both with his coat. Hermione bent forward laying her forehead against the wriggling but slowly calming baby not knowing which of them was crying harder. She felt Lucius’ hand on the back of her head comfortingly. “She’s alright now. She’s alright.” She heard him say, an uncharacteristic quaver in his voice.

With one hand Hermione reached back to take his and, to his evident surprise, brought it to her lips kissing it firmly, her tears dripping onto his wrist. “Thank you.” She sobbed kissing his hand again. _“Thank you.”_

After a moment of hesitation, his free hand touched her shoulder and he nodded. 

She looked back down in stunned and muted wonder brushing the tears from her eyes. “I can’t believe she’s here… Did I… did I really do this?”

The wizard kneeling over her chuckled. “Yes. You did. You made it through.”

Lucius’ expression was a bemusing mixture of shell-shocked panic and bright-eyed relief and joy. She smiled tiredly as his hand came gently under her chin and he smiled back, before swallowing hard and rubbing his face and the back of his neck with a deep steadying breath.

“ _You_ made it through too.” She teased him.

“Barely.” He said quietly, sitting down with a bemused huff, looking over at the squirming bundle she was holding. 

Hermione swooned, a chilled achy feeling coming over her. 

“Hermione?” she heard Lucius ask, his voice holding a harsher bite of concern.

“Yeah.” She swallowed, blinking. “Yeah I’m ok… Tired…”

Hermione felt her arms slip a bit, but Lucius came closer and steadied her arms around Rose. “Hermione?” he asked again.

“Lucius… Remember your promise.” She said tearfully, tightening her hold on Rose briefly and kissing her forehead.

“I promised I would do what I could to get help for both of you—”

“Please.” Hermione said. “She’s ok now but anything could happen and there won’t be time—”

But Lucius straightened, rose up to a kneeling position and looked out into the trees behind him. Hermione tried to look past him to where he was surveying. “I may not have to.” He said. “Do you hear that?”

Hermione tried to listen. She could just make it out. Distant shouting and running footsteps through the brush. Someone must have heard her screaming and was coming to investigate!

“Someone is there.” Hermione breathed. “Help!” she cried out louder, “Help!”

Lucius looked back down at her, closing his eyes briefly with a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods.”

Content to be cradled and snuggled with her mother, Rose who had begun to calm startled at her call for help and began to whine in displeasure.

“Oh, it’s alright. Shh.” She soothed her. With a blush and a weary slow blink of her eyes she looked up at Lucius. “I… I need help. She needs to eat something…”

Lucius looked down confused for a moment and then his eyes widened. “Oh.” He said and with a discomforted clearing of his throat, helped steady Rose as Hermione wearily pulled down the fabric of her now thoroughly ruined dress and bra. She smiled weakly as Lucius turned his head away for discretion’s sake and she shook her head in bemusement. Fortunately for them both, Rose needed little coaxing or guidance from her, and began nursing in earnest, a fact which filled Hermione with relief. But a new sensation soon began to set in, and Hermione groaned at the pains. She had expected mild contractions to continue, that much was in the baby books, but she hadn’t expected it to feel this distracting, or to be accompanied with the faintness and blurry vision. 

“I.. I feel strange.” She confessed. 

“Strange how? Hermione?”

“I… I don’t know…” she shook her head.

But the sound of running footsteps was getting closer and Hermione called out for help again. “Help! Please!”

“You look pale.” Lucius noted as he leaned over her, touching her cheek. “Hang in there Hermione. We-“

Hermione jumped, startled, and screamed in terror, clutching Rose closer to herself protectively as a gunshot rang out and somewhere alarmingly close. Rose jumped, her meal interrupted and began to cry in earnest. Her own ears ringing and likely Rose’s too, she instinctively curled around the baby. 

An actual _gun_? Who the bloody hell-

Before she could process it further, indeed before she could move, think, or even breathe, she looked up, and gasped in shock. Lucius had frozen, looking down at her in confusion and pain. Then a splash of color caught her eye as he looked down at his chest, blood, bright against the white fabric of his shirt, and seeping quickly over the space between his heart and shoulder. 

“No…” she gasped as he swayed forward, bracing himself on his hands briefly. Hermione watched in tongue tied horror as Lucius paled, his eyes drifting closed in pain and he crumpled weakly to the ground beside her, choking and gasping. “No, oh my god, Lucius!”

“Miss are you al—” A foreign voice cut in. “Oh _shit_.”

Hermione’s head snapped up, adrenaline numbing her as she shook her head in wide eyed confusion that was quickly turning to rage as she glared at the equally stunned, dark haired muggle dressed in hunting attire, the long arm in his hand clattering to the ground as he surveyed the scene. 

“You shot him!” she cried, struggling towards Lucius even as she tried to comfort Rose, now screaming from the ringing echo of gun fire. “You fucking shot him! WHAT THE HELL?!”

“I… I could hear you screaming!”

“Yeah women do that in labor!” she snapped. “Do you have a mobile?!” 

“I thought… with the screams and him… I thought he was… oh shit!”

If Hermione could stand, she’d have kicked him. “ _HEY_! Do you have a mobile!?!”

“Y-yeah!”

“Call for help then!” Hermione glared at him as he remained motionless. “NOW!!”

The man fumbled in his pocket and began dialing numbers, but Hermione wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. She still tried to move towards Lucius, but her intentions were greater than her strength, and she crumpled weakly, her cheek scraping against twigs and pebbles, her hand on his forearm, Rose cradled against her belly. She reached out a trembling hand up towards his throat and found him still breathing. Her vision blurred more persistently, and she found the wound on his chest and pressed her hand against it. She could hear his rattling breath, and as she blinked away the fog in her eyes, she saw him struggling but awake. 

Wrapping the grumpy but quieting Rose tightly in Lucius’ coat she staggered to her knees with a moan and laid her down close and gasped as a rush of fluid and matter passed between her legs. Pain knifed across her belly, but she ignored it, swaying forward and pressing more firmly against the wound in his chest. She could feel shards of bone against her trembling palm and she pushed the cloak she’d been laying on under his back to try and get pressure on the entry wound as well. 

“Lucius! Stay with me!” she pleaded, leaning over him unsteadily. “Look at me!” 

He tried, but his suffering was not prolonged as the shock, blood loss, and lessened oxygen dragged him towards unconsciousness… 

“No!” she cried, the awareness leaving his eyes. “No, please!”

Too late. 

“Did you call?!” she panted in a panic.

“Yeah,” the man nearby said shakily. “Yeah, they’re coming.”

Hermione grit her teeth and forced herself to straighten. “Get over here and hold this down tight and don’t let go... DO IT!”

She crawled weakly to the still open satchel lying on the ground nearby, after the muggle had come to take her place, and groped desperately through the contents. Blood loss, and a healing potion, she didn’t know what else to use. Would it even be enough? It didn’t matter it was all she had until help arrived. She gripped the vials in her hand and turned to go back. She got to him… But before she could do anything more, she cried out and gripped her stomach, doubled over and gasping, the vials tumbling from her hands. She felt another rush of hot, sticky fluid between her thighs. Could smell the sickly sweet, coppery scent. 

“Help…” she whispered on pale quivering lips. “We need help…”

Unconsciousness seeping over her like a thick tar, Hermione fell to her side, the last she heard was Rose crying and the far-off sound of helicopter blades…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean... if you read the story summary you knew it was coming. I know it sounds stupid, but I can’t tell you how many “good Samaritan mistakenly shot” news stories I’ve read or “wrong person killed” articles that pop up. People are dumb. -_-


	5. Mayday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione wakes up in kinder surroundings and tries to learn the fate of Lucius and her daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! There’s professionals involved now! Hopefully that means our characters can relax and recover a bit. Got this ready sooner than I thought I would! Enjoy! Fancast for Nurse Leisa, Diana Muldaur. Fancast for Nurse Mae, Stephanie Sanditz

“Tell your heart to beat again.  
Close your eyes and breathe it in.  
Let the shadows fall away.  
Step into the light of grace.  
Yesterday's a closing door,  
You don't live there anymore.  
Say goodbye to where you've been.  
And tell your heart to beat again.”  
**“Tell Your Heart to Beat Again” by Danny Gokey**

Anything Hermione was able to recall was in vague, barely wakeful slices of time and awareness. As if she were looking through a choppy, wispy memory or struggling to listen through a bad radio signal. There was a chaos around her that she was a part of and somehow not. Involving her, happening to her, but of which she was incapable of affecting or comprehending. She could hear her own pulse in her ears fading and giving way to a deafening whirl of helicopter blades somewhere close by, outside of the cluster of trees. The sounds were echoing as if there were more than one, or her hearing was as compromised as her sight. Rose… Rose would be afraid of the noise, where was she? She tried to get up and search, but her body felt limp and lifeless like overcooked soggy noodles. She smiled. Ha ha. Noodles. Why was that funny? Was she already delirious? Had she completely cracked? Rose. Where was Rose? 

“Well this is a first.” someone said. “Good god what the hell happened here?”

There were several people scuffling around urgently. Hermione tried to open her eyes, but the wind abraded her tired aching eyes, and she shut them against the drive of it, time passing in barely traceable chunks.

“Nothing more I can do here; I’m going to get her loaded. How are you making out?”

She was on something hard and flat, something being strapped around her as the man spoke. Oh god, what a migraine she had… 

“He’s alive. Did needle decompression, but we should move fast. Rollins, radio ahead tell them what we’ve got here. And make sure NICU is waiting for the baby.”

Hermione’s thoughts moved in slow blocks. _NICU_. Rose was ok. _He_. Lucius. He was alive... Hermione reached out a weak hand and felt through the brush and dirt, seizing his hand in hers when she came to it. _Be ok. Please be ok._

She held on to his hand tightly as she could until she felt her body floating upward and she was filled with an irrational panic. No! Where was she going!? She couldn’t leave him! And she hadn’t found Rose yet! She was right here, who took her?! She soon felt another latex gloved hand at her fingers, pulling her hand forcibly from Lucius’.

“It’s alright.” A placating voice said, “Everyone’s coming along, don’t you worry. We’re going to take care of you.”

She was aware she was moving, being carried between two people, the whirling sound growing louder, the wind swirling stronger. A few unpleasant bumps and jerks, and she was staring blearily up at the ceiling of the small enclosed space. She could feel straps being adjusted; a mask put over her face. She tried to speak but it only came out as a whimper. Someone moved beside her showing her a tiny blurry bundle. “Your baby girl is here. She’s doing ok but we’re going to strap her in over here for the ride, alright? Don’t want any tumbling babies, eh?”

She reached out to touch her daughter but found her limbs disobedient and slipped out of consciousness once more as she heard garbled radio chatter and the vehicle lifted into the air…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sensation and awareness returned slowly as Hermione woke up once more. The first thing to come into focus was the steady dull tone of a bell or chime. She turned her head towards the sound, her cheek brushing against the pillow under her. Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked in the sudden light. Where was she? What happened? Hermione tried to turn her body to take in her surroundings but winced at the immediate soreness that radiated through her. She felt like she had been hit by a truck. Or a few. She raised a hand to her aching eyes but drew back at the feeling of something rough against the bridge of her nose. Looking down at her wrist she blinked at the paper bracelet. Unknown female. 

She was in a hospital. As she moved her arm, she was aware of IVs sticking in her, a pulse reader on her hand and a blood pressure cuff around her arm. She blinked again, trying to clear the fuzziness away and slowly focused on her surroundings. The light wasn’t all that bright, a warmer, homier glow than what spilled in from the hallway and the curtains were drawn. The room was spacious, and she was alone, hooked to quite a few monitors, but all else quiet. There was a comfortable looking recliner, and a table in the corner with another chair, and a real floor lamp. Various equipment sat in the corner and she realized she must be on the maternity floor. She could hear someone around the corner in a small alcove just inside her open door moving something around and opening cabinets.

“Hello?” she called, her voice sounding groggy and rough. “Hello?”

Hermione looked towards the sound and a sharp, angular face appeared around the corner. An older woman with greying, tightly curled hair and a straight nose looked over, her thin mouth curling into a smile. She came around the wall, striding towards her, tall and slim, dressed in dark blue scrubs. 

“Well hello there.” She said, looking over her monitor. “My name is Leisa. How are you feeling?"

Hermione thought about that question... or tried to at least. Honestly, she felt a bit numb…

“I… I’m not sure. What happened?”

“Post-partum hemorrhage.” Nurse Leisa explained. “Most likely cause was your contractions after the birth weren’t strong enough and so the blood vessels didn’t close off properly. Blood pressure, stress, activity wouldn’t have helped. Now… you’ve had a blood transfusion and did fine, but we’ve got you on a saline drip to help you along now.” 

She nodded tiredly as the memories began trickling in.

“Where’s my baby?” she asked, words slurring even to her own ears. “What happened to her? Is she ok? Why isn’t she here, where did they put her—”

“Easy. Try to relax.” Leisa said, glancing anxiously at her heartrate reading above her on the monitor, as she traded her blanket for a freshly warmed one. She hadn’t even realized she was shivering until the warm fabric encased her. “Your baby girl is perfectly fine. Sleeping peacefully in the NICU.”

“Sleeping.” Hermione repeated sadly. “NICU. She’s… early… a few weeks.”

“Yes, so precautions all around.” The nurse said bracingly. “Here.” She added, placing a Styrofoam cup on the table near Hermione’s bedside. “We want to go easy on your stomach at first but here’s some ice chips in case your mouth is dry.”

But Hermione wasn’t thinking of ice chips… 

“The man who was with me…” she asked, heart pounding. “He was shot in the back… What happened to him? Is he alive, where did they take him –“

“I don’t know about any man,” the nurse answered. “But we don’t get too many gunshot victims so he should be easy to track down. I’ll ask for you if it will keep you calm, alright?”

Hermione tried to swallow down that fear and nodded.

“Can I see my daughter?”

Leisa patted her knee empathetically. “Not yet dear. You need rest and we don’t want you moving about too much.”

Tears filled her eyes, but she was too exhausted to argue or fight, or to even rise on her own. No wand, no phone, stranded who knows where, her daughter in NICU away from her, and Lucius’ status uncertain. What a fine mess they were all in.

“Oh, honey, I know you’ve been through it… at least let’s finish that saline and fluid and then we’ll see how you’re feeling alright? For now, just rest. You’re postpartum with complications so we’re keeping you in maternity to watch you, but the OB is consulting with neurology, there’s some other tests they want done, when radiology is finished working through the other patients.”

 _The train wreck_. “How many injured?” she asked. 

“Too many. They’ll come get you when there’s space.”

If they ever did, she wouldn’t have known. Her eyes were as heavy as her sore, aching body seemed to be and sleep claimed her easily and firmly. When she opened her eyes next, she could see gathering darkness out of the window of her room, the barest of orange rays reflecting off the outside wall that she could see opposite her room. She was beginning to wonder how long she had slept for when she noticed a different nurse standing beside her bedside as she opened her eyes, a much younger woman in pink scrubs, with full lips and blond hair pulled into a ponytail.

“Hi!” she said when she saw Hermione’s eyes open. 

“Where’s the other nurse? Leisa?” Hermione asked, brow furrowed. 

“Her shift ended a bit ago. I’m Mae. How are you feeling?”

How was she feeling. That question was simple really, but she found herself having to think about the answer, peeling back layers of tiredness and uncertainty.

“Ok I think.” She answered, testing her movements. She was weary, but not feeling quite as thoroughly wrecked as before and her thoughts felt clearer. “How long was I asleep?”

White teeth flashed as Mae smiled, fist on her hip. “Not long enough with everything you’ve been through. You were admitted at about 11:30 in the morning unconscious. You woke up briefly for nurse Leisa at about 1, its 4:33 now.” 

“Please. I really need to see my daughter.” Hermione pleaded.

“I know.” She frowned sadly. “Your temp is normal, and your blood pressure is fairly good. Can you try and eat a little something? If you can keep that down and your bleeding is ok, I’ll get a wheelchair and take you over, ok?”

Hermione desperately wanted to demand to go now but she thought better of it. It was not an unreasonable requirement and the nurse was only trying to make sure she didn’t drop dead in the corridor. She nodded.

The nurse nodded once approvingly and went over to the little alcove near the door and came back with a tray. 

“The man that was with me.” Hermione asked, as the nurse moved an over the bed table and set the tray down over her. “The other nurse, Leisa, she was checking for me-“

“Oh, right! She asked me to tell you before she left. When she checked a couple hours ago, he was still in surgery and we unfortunately won’t know much until he’s out.”

“ _Still_?” Hermione frowned, looking up. “It’s been hours.”

Mae busied herself uncovering the tray and opening cups and utensils for her, a gesture Hermione’s tired muscles appreciated. “It’s been chaos with that train crash, and they were apparently having a hard time keeping him stable.” She explained. “And a bullet going through you is no small thing in the best of circumstances… But he’s there now. Or _was_ two hours ago. These things take time, try not to fret... Is he the father?”

“No, no.” Hermione said quietly, her stomach twisting with worry at the limited prognosis. “No, but he helped me deliver, and he saved my daughter. And I…” Hermione buried her face in her hands, thoroughly overwhelmed. “Oh god this is a nightmare…”

Why was she behaving this way?! Hermione could admit to herself she wasn’t always the calmest person in the world, but she prided herself on her rationality, and ability to snap out of it and make a plan. Here she was falling apart, repeatedly, and though her mind told her “Uh. Hermione? You’re a bit hormonal at the moment on top of exactly how many shocks and stressors in the past 24 hours?” But that didn’t stop her from scolding herself as she bit her lip and tried to swallow back a fresh wave of tears that threatened. God, she was so tired of crying.

“Don’t worry.” Mae urged, her forehead crinkled in an empathetic look. “The surgeons here are great. He probably won’t be allowed visitors right after anyway. We’ll check again in the morning.”

Hermione nodded and leaned her head back against the pillow. She knew she should eat but she didn’t feel like it. Between Rose and Lucius and her own predicament, her empty stomach was turning. But she would keep her end and sipped slowly at the broth. When that stayed put in her stomach, she drank the water and sugarless tea and politely skipped the jello. Mae checked her bleeding, her temperature and her blood pressure once more, and apparently satisfied, called out into the hall for a wheelchair. Gingerly, the kindly nurse took her hands and helped her into the chair. It felt strange to be moving, but her feet thankfully stayed firmly planted under her, and though movement was uncomfortable and reminded her how bruised she was, she felt more in control and made it to the chair. 

Mae laid a warm blanket over her lap and wheeled her into the hall. It was quiet and peaceful, with dark warm tones of wallpaper. With paintings and soft light and a comfortable carpeted partitioned off waiting room, it looked more like a home than a hospital, and she wished not for the first time she had delivered Rose here or back in St. Mungoes, and the reflection brought fresh worry for Lucius to mind. They passed a curved receptionist desk and a relatively empty nursery and continued around the circular floor.

“How far is this hospital from London?” she asked, realizing she’d never thought to check.

“Oh, about two hours with good traffic.” Mae answered, wheeling her along.

Two hours. She’d almost made it. She would have to get word to Ron and Harry soon. She thought there was a phone in her room--

“Now, there’s only two other mothers on the floor and your daughter is the only baby in NICU, so she’ll have lots of eyes on her.” Mae told her this as she stopped her outside a set of double doors and pressed a large button, swinging them open. Wheeling her through, Hermione found Rose and watched with laser like focus on the only lighted incubator in the room. 

A single sob of relief tore from Hermione’s lips as Mae wheeled her closer, and she braced a hand on the side of the little plastic basket Rose was nestled in. Hermione hated to see the little sticky sensors secured to her tiny body, but Rose was awake, her eyes open and scanning her limited surroundings. Pink, warm, wiggling and content, she gurgled, waving her small fist. She was so small…

And absolutely perfect. 

Hermione looked up questioningly at Mae. “And she’s alright?”

Mae put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Yes. So far we haven’t had any problems. She’s here as a precaution. She was breathing just fine and all her tests have come back perfect. She’s a few weeks early by her measurements but she’s strong.”

Hermione nodded, gazing down at her. “Yes, I wasn’t due for another month. What about exposure to things? I mean we were in the woods; we couldn’t sterilize anything.”

“So far she looks fine. But we’re going to be keeping a close eye. Now. Now that you’re doing a bit better.” Mae said smiling, picking up a clipboard. “Are there names we can replace unknown female and unknown female newborn with on these ID bracelets?”

Hermione brushed the warm tears off her cheeks and nodded. “Hermione Granger. And this is Rose. Rose Emily Granger-Weasley.”

Mae muttered to herself as she wrote it down and then pocketed her pen. “We can do addresses and all the other stuff later. I’ll give you some space, but I’ll be right over here if you need help or have questions.”

Hermione nodded appreciatively and leaned forward, reaching out her hand to take her daughter’s fingers in her own. Rose latched on to her index finger with a surprisingly quick grip and Hermione smiled with a breathless laugh. Her eyes, baby blue, her head sprinkled with a smattering of soft red fuzz. She regretted Ron missing these first precious moments intensely. She could only look onward to making up for lost time when they got out of here. 

Her arms physically ached as she longed to reach out and take Rose into her arms, but she didn’t dare chance it with how she felt for fear of dropping her. Soon, she told herself. All would be as it should be soon.

Hermione had no idea how long she sat there, stroking Rose’s cheek, holding her hands, touching her soft head, crooning softly and comfortingly and singing lullabies. Most of the time she just sat staring as Rose drifted off into power naps and then awoke again. 

Too soon, Mae was at her shoulder again. “Now I know it’s hard to tear yourself away, but radiology is ready for you. Then you should rest for the night.”

With the greatest of hesitations, Hermione let herself be wheeled away but had not made it through the door when the tears came again and she leaned her elbows on the chair’s arms, covering her face with her hands.  
Mae was understanding and comforting. “I know it’s hard. Rest, get strong for your baby girl. She’ll be out of there and by your side in no time.”

Hermione had little to say to that and found herself more tired than she thought. With a bit of extra support, she went through the motions, going along with the x-rays and scans. When she was finally finished there, a young man with sandy hair wheeled her back to maternity where Mae was waiting to help her into bed. 

She would never admit it out loud, but merely the ride to see Rose and the straightforward ordeal in radiology left her exhausted. When Mae had left, Hermione reached out a weary hand to pull the telephone closer by its cord and dialed first Ronald and then Harry. There was no answer for either and she left a message of where she was and that she, and Rose, were both alright. Both had mobile phones, but there was no telling where they were, whether they had a signal, and when they would get her message. By now they’d surely realized she didn’t get home last night and by now likely had heard about the wreck. They were both probably worried to death…  
And so, comforted that she had done what she could, she whispered an unheard goodnight to Rose before drifting off, and a silent prayer that Lucius was faring well before giving in to the beckoning sleep…  
But slumber was not to be interrupted kindly.

Hermione awoke early in the morning, a glance at the bedside clock telling her it was only 4:30 in the morning, and so she was wide awake when Mae peeked into her room looking hesitant. 

She must have looked surprised to see her still there, for Mae informed her. “My relief was late getting in. I wanted to see if you were up so I could let you know before I took off…” the nurse took a deep breath. “I found out about your friend.” She said, looking grave and sympathetic. 

“Oh.” Hermione breathed, a sharp pain in her heart at her tone and expression. “Oh no…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. Did he make it? Or is the summary a lie and this is going to be a really short adventure??
> 
> Keep the comments coming! Gives me inspiration to keep it up.


	6. A Lifetime of Assumptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione learns what happened to Lucius and also bonds with her daughter. There are some questions to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of good guesses on what exactly happened to Lucius. I think some of you will be pleased with some upcoming developments. Brownie points to you. *tips hat*  
> Fancast for Nurse Jasmine: Karen David

_“If I could tell the world just one thing,  
It would be that we're all OK.  
And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful  
And useless in times like these.  
I won't be made useless.  
I won't be idle with despair.”_  
**“Hands”, by Jewell**

Hermione was distressed at the nurse’s tone. Had Lucius not made it? “Oh.” Hermione breathed, a sharp pain in her heart at the possibility. “Oh no…”

“Oh, don’t misunderstanding my concern.” Mae raised a hand in assurance. “He survived.”

Hermione laid back against the pillows with a deep breath. “How bad off is he?”

“His condition is quite serious but he’s stable. The bullet missed his heart and spine, or we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation at all. But it still wreaked its fair share of havoc. Collapsed lung, severe bleeding, and quite a lot of damage to the surrounding area. I…” she shifted a bit, dropping her eyes momentarily. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you.. they almost lost him though. On top of everything else his body rejected the blood transfusion and he reacted badly. That sometimes happens but in his condition…”

She swallowed and nodded. “But he’s recovered? Will I be able to see him?” she asked.

“He’s in intensive care.” Mae said regretfully. “And he hasn’t woken up at all yet. Maybe in a bit but right now he’s in no state for visitors.”

As Mae bid her farewell, Hermione leaned her head back and tried to swallow down her irritation. She needed to get to him before he woke up in this strange place. She felt she owed him that much at least…

But the staff would not be dissuaded, and she relented for the time being. She took her breakfast later on dutifully, her appetite in a more tolerable state, submitted to their checks and exams without complaint, grateful at least that they no longer insisted on the blood pressure cuff. The less she was hooked to the calmer she felt. 

She was allowed to shower, so long as she remained in a shower chair, a boon she was deliriously giddy over. Dried blood, leaves and dirt tangled in her hair, fell off her in sloughs of filth washing away down the drain. She resisted the urge to scrub, much as she longed to, the bruises reminding her of their presence as she winced and gently dragged the washcloth over her skin. She washed her hair, brushed her teeth and felt – finally – like something resembling a human being again. Clean and freshened, and eager to return to her daughter, she could hardly keep still as the dark-haired nurse, Jasmine, wheeled her back down to the NICU. 

Rose was the same as she had left her late last night. Bright eyed and squirming, she smiled at the sight of her tiny but animated frame. 

“It’s remarkable how well she’s doing.” Jasmine said, her onyx eyes dancing with joy. “You should be proud of your little champ here… Its about time for her to eat, do you want to try and nurse her?”

“Yes, please.” Hermione said tearfully. 

Nurse Jasmine carefully lifted Rose from the warm incubator wrapping her in a soft pink blanket. Hermione held her arms out in barely restrained anticipation and couldn’t help a sob of happiness from escaping her lips as she held her for the first time in safety and peace. With a little assistance from the nurse and a minor bit of coaxing Rose remembered what to do and was soon nursing comfortably.

“Now since you had a bit of a delay, you may have some hiccups, I’ll leave a message for the lactation consultant to come pay you a visit and answer any concerns you might have, alright?”

Hermione nodded, thoroughly engrossed by her perfect little bundle. “Thank you.” 

The nurse smiled and retreated to give her some space, unsurprised and unoffended at the new mother’s distraction.

Hermione leaned back in her wheelchair, holding Rose comfortably as she gazed down at her in awe and adoration. How close they all were to immediate disaster… It was fortunate the emergency responders were still nearby and expanding their search. She and Lucius both would have bled to death right there if not the helicopters, and rage inducingly stupid as the muggle who shot Lucius was, at least he had a mobile and could call for help. And who knows what would have happened to her baby…

She felt much stronger today and had no qualms at all over holding her, her grip sure and hands steady. She spoke softly to the little one, her daughter who even given their traumatic separation, seemed to know her all the same.

“My what a hectic birthday you had.” Hermione crooned softly smiling at the contented gurgle noises coming from her as she nursed. “I know it must be boring in here by yourself, but soon enough you’ll be with me.”

As Rose finished her meal and Hermione adjusted her hospital gown, she held Rose a bit closer, adjusting her to lay a kiss on her soft forehead. “Oh, you smell just like I always thought a baby would.” A tear slipped from under Hermione’s lashes and splashed along Rose’s fuzzy scalp. “Soon enough you’ll get to meet your dad, and all your aunts and uncles, and grandparents –” Hermione frowned. “Well. Some of your grandparents. But let’s not think of that right now, let’s just think of the happy.” But that proved difficult. “And I tried to check on Lucius. But they couldn’t tell me much.” Hermione sighed. “He hasn’t woken up yet… But we won’t let that discourage us, will we? No, we’re going to help him like he helped us. He’ll be ok. We all will.”

With Rose safely in her arms, her thoughts turned back to the man lying somewhere in this same hospital more firmly and thinking of him set her heart pounding nervously. First things were first, however. She had to get a hold of someone from their world. St. Mungoes would have a team of healers just for this sort of problem.

She didn’t have to wait long, however. When too soon it was time to relinquish Rose once more to return to her bed, Hermione arrived to hear the phone in her room ringing persistently and when she was lying down and the nurse had left again, Hermione picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“HERMIONE!”

“HARRY??” Hermione gasped in disbelief. 

“Hermione, I got your message! Are you ok? We’ve been looking everywhere, where did you get to, it would have been sooner of course but we had no idea at first and by time we did it was morning, and Ron thought you were mad at him and just went somewhere else for the night – don’t ever do that by the way we need to know where you are! And were you serious, you were-“

“Harry, Harry!” she interrupted smiling. “Stop, relax.”

“Yeah, yeah ok, its just… blimey Hermione. Are you alright?”

“Yes, we’re both fine. I promise.”

“Yeah, both.” Harry blew out a whistle. “I heard that message correctly? Rose was actually born? Now?”

“Yes. She was.” Hermione confirmed.

“Ron is going to _freak_ when I tell him!”

He was probably right. “Yes. So, make sure you tell him that we’re fine and she is perfect.” 

Hermione pleaded. “And when you talk to St. Mungoes make sure they know she was early because I’m sure there will be things that they have to watch…”

“Yeah don’t worry about a thing.” Harry assured her. “I’ve already talked to St. Mungoes, they’re making special arrangements for Rose, so it might be a day or two. Something about paperwork and needing the approval of the muggle prime minister because of – ahem- a previous incident. Whatever it was. I don’t know, its above my head. They’ll tell us what to do.”

“And Ron?” she pressed. 

“Going out of his mind. I got your message early this morning, I haven’t gotten a hold of him yet, you know how he is with the muggle phones.”

“Yes, I know.” She smiled. “But Harry, there’s another wizard here. He’s hurt badly and…”

“We’ll get all that sorted later, you can make a report at St. Mungoes. They won’t be able to do two transfers at once anyway it’ll look suspicious and raise questions.”

“Oh. Alright.” She allowed hesitantly. Perhaps that was for the best. It would give her time to get to Lucius and asses his condition herself and give the healers the most accurate picture. Speaking of which…

“Harry. One more thing… Draco and Astoria. I saw them board the train with little Scorpius. Do you know what happened to them?”

“Oh! Yeah actually. I had to go there and deal with some fallout with the muggle police from some other passengers seeing him cast magic. Obliviators wanted Aurors there.”

Even without the tentative truce that seemed struck between them, Harry would not be so blasé or have so unconcerned a tone if they were not well… But she had to ask anyway.

“So, they’re alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Draco was awake and had time to cast a protective charm. Got most of their car shielded before things got ugly.”

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed out heavily with relief. When she thought of poor tiny little Scorpius… good. At least when she could speak to Lucius, she could give him some good news. 

After a few more minutes, simply relieved to hear a familiar voice, and a reluctant goodbye to Harry, Hermione placed the receiver back in the cradle and sat back with a huff and bit the end of her finger anxiously. 

The day dragged on. Hermione was able to sit with Rose and even nurse her several more times, until it was time for her own lunch, and she was again wheeled back to her little room. Nervously she asked Leisa who had again returned if she would follow up on Lucius’ condition, but no sooner had the older woman left her room did Hermione receive a sudden and tension inducing visitor.

A tall and imposing police officer rapped smartly on the open door, hat in hand, his square jaw and no-nonsense green eyes set with determined intensity. 

“Good afternoon, Ms…” he began in a deep brogue.

“Granger, sir.” She answered. “Hermione Granger.”

“Ms. Granger.” He repeated. “I’m Officer Drake, I’d like to ask you a few questions about what you went through yesterday if that’s alright.”

Hermione nodded, swallowing hard. She had expected questions about one aspect or another and was not entirely surprised at his presence in her hospital room. He posed the standard inquiries, where she lived, what she could remember from the crash and what happened after, where she was going, and then came the topic she had braced herself for.

“Now as to the shooting.” Officer Drake asked, still scribbling in his notepad from the last stream of questions. “Can you tell me what happened. Did you see the shooter before the gun went off?”

“Umm, no. I was focused on my baby. I heard them though. I had only just delivered her when we, the man that was shot and I, we heard footsteps and shouting, like he was talking to someone else.”

“So the first time you saw the shooter?”

“Um..” Hermione thought back. “I had been calling for help after hearing the footsteps. “Lucius was helping me with my daughter, and a few seconds after the last time I called for help, that’s when I heard the gun. I didn’t realize what had happened and then… then I looked up and… I saw the blood.” Hermione swallowed, the terror of that moment rushing back and compounding the anxiety of reliving the crash and Rose’s traumatic entrance to the world. “Then he collapsed, and I looked up and saw the man with the gun.”

“Can you describe him? The shooter?”

“Dark hair.” She recalled. “Tall. Dressed like a hunter, kind of lanky. Sallow face. Middle aged. I’m sorry officer, did he run or something?” she asked perplexed. 

“No, we caught him.” Officer Drake confirmed with a tone of intense disbelief. “He’ll be facing quite a few charges.”

“Who was he?” Hermione wanted to know.

“Just an overzealous Joe Bloggs. Once we cuffed him, he didn’t stop talking. Apparently, he and a companion heard you screaming and saw your friend kneeling over you and the blood and assumed you were being assaulted. We had some trouble nearby a few weeks ago with a creep, terrorizing citizens and your nervous shooter was a little trigger happy.” 

Hermione dropped her face into her hands in despair. A misunderstanding and a case of paranoia. _That_ was what got him shot? There would have never been a good enough reason for it. But that just seemed so stupid. She could be charitable and say at least the man had taken action when he thought a horror was taking place, but with Lucius lying in the ICU, fate uncertain, after everything that he’d done for her and Rose, and everything she herself had gone through, she was in no mood to be kind or understanding.

“I’m sorry miss, I’m sure this is terribly difficult. Do you need to stop?”

“No.” Hermione answered blearily. “No, please is there anything else you need to know?”

“Well, with your friend still recovering, there’s no way we’ll be able to talk to him for a few days. Do you know him? His name? Where he lives? Does he have any family that can be notified?”

Hermione fought back a snort. She _thought_ she knew him. But a lifetime of assumptions and opinions had been turned on their head and it left her numbly and speechlessly confused and feeling as if she really knew nothing at all. But then her thoughts turned far more serious and contemplative. She didn’t _actually_ know where he was living since his falling out with Draco, and his son’s marriage to Astoria. And she couldn’t very well give the location of the manor anyway, they’d never find it. Giving his name might expose him and bring up more questions that couldn’t be answered, like why there was no identification, records to show he was a real person or anything. And if his name got out and was heard by the wrong person, an enemy could get to him easily, especially now when he was relatively helpless and completely unaware…

“No.” she decided. “He was just in the right place. I don’t know him. I know he was there looking for his son, who was on the train too, that’s how he came across me.”

“The shooter said you identified the victim as…” the officer flipped back in his notebook. “Lucius. And that’s the name you used just earlier.”

_Shit._

“Yes,” she amended. “He told me his first name when he was helping me deliver my daughter. Less awkward I suppose.”

“Yes indeed. Easier than ‘hey you.’” the officer winked good naturedly and Hermione smiled. “I thank you very much Ms. Granger. That’ll have to do until we can question him.”

Hermione tried not to react to that last statement. Lucius Malfoy, wandless, drugged, confused, and being questioned by muggle police was bound to be a disaster. 

Oh, gods above, she had to get them all out of here.

By time the officer had taken his leave with well wishes for her recovery and the nurse had returned to her room, she was on pins and needles, tapping her fingers erratically against her thigh for waiting.

“Is he alright? Can I see him now?” Hermione asked, biting her lower lip when Lesia came back.

“He woke up very briefly and he is breathing on his own, which is great.” She reported. “He should be more aware soon. Maybe when he wakes up again…”

Hermione paled. That should all be good news, but Lucius had no idea what was going on or what they were doing. If he woke up with muggles standing over him with tools and machines and masks or worse a needle, it was likely to end badly for him and everyone else in the room… To say nothing of what an involuntary magical outburst might do for his condition…

No. Lucius Malfoy could absolutely _not_ be permitted to wake up in those circumstances. The whole situation had “statute of secrecy violation” written all over it. 

Deciding on her course of action, Hermione threw the blankets aside and gingerly forced herself to straighten and dropped her feet over the side of the bed.

“ _What_ do you think you’re doing!?” Leisa demanded as Hermione gripped the side rail and stood slowly.

“I have to go see him. _Now.”_ Hermione said emphatically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. Will she finally get to him, or be thwarted? How is our Lucius going to handle being literally air dropped into the middle of the muggle life???? O_O


	7. Trust Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets to see Lucius but is left concerned and conflicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always so much for all the comments! I try to reply to everyone, sorry if I miss anyone but know that all are read and so appreciated. I’m a terribly shy person and your lovely feedback gives a much needed confidence boost!  
> Fancast for Nurse Jackie: Zooey Deschanel

_“All day long I can hear  
People talking out loud.  
But when you hold me near  
You drown out the crowd.  
Try as I may I could never define,  
What's being said between your heart and mine.” _  
**“When you say nothing at all”, Keith Whitley and Allison Krauss**

“Absolutely not!” nurse Leisa said shrilly. 

Hermione threw the wires tangled around her aside and looked up, patience shot. “I can go with help, or I can crawl down the hallway and you can clean up the trail of blood and scrape me off the floor later!”

The nurse’s eyes widened in surprise, and Hermione felt guilty for the outburst.

“Look I’m sorry.” She said with a deep breath, pressing her fingertips to her temple, her sudden burst of activity, small as it was, causing her head to ache and spin. “I don’t mean to be difficult. You’re so sweet and I know you’re just doing your job, and I’m so grateful that you're telling me anything at all. I… it’s been an insane few days. I’m away from home, I’ve almost died twice in 24 hours, my baby is in NICU, the baby that was stillborn in the middle of the woods and the man who _literally_ brought her back to life is lying in a hospital bed _also_ having nearly died.” 

Hermione leaned on the bed rail, “I have never felt so helpless and out of control in my life. And believe me, that’s saying something! Please, let me see him. Just for a bit. I’ll go in a wheelchair. You can tie me to it if you want, I just have to see for myself that he’s ok…”

Leisa stood, arms crossed impatiently, surveying Hermione, probably trying to decide it was worth it to call her bluff. But her eyes were sympathetic within a stern face and finally with a deep sigh, the older woman relented.

“Alright. I suppose a few moments couldn’t hurt. I’ll take you down. I’m going on my lunch break and –“ she pointed her finger for emphasis, “It’s going to be a short one! I’ll come back and get you when I’m through.”

Hermione breathed in relief. “Thank you.”

She waited with bated breath as the nurse retrieved a wheelchair for her. She tried not to show her anxiety by fidgeting and instead slipped her hands under her thighs to resist the urge to tap nervously. It was out of her room and through the double doors, and Hermione tried to pay attention to where they were going but the drastic change from cozy warm maternity floor to bright fluorescent lighted white tiled hallway had her blinking rapidly for a moment. Down the hall. To the lifts. Three floors up. Left. Through the double doors.

The further down the hallway they got, the faster and harder Hermione’s heart pounded. As they passed the large nurse’s station and moved through the cold, bright efficiency of the ICU, her anxiety increased tenfold. She could hear the persistent beeping of various pieces of equipment through the sliding glass doors of various rooms they went by. She could hear more than one distressed patient, and a small family weeping outside of a door. 

Suddenly, Leisa brought her to a stop just before the last door in that wing. 

“Hi Jackie.” Leisa greeted. 

A tall, black haired nurse with a sharp angular face looked up from where she was tapping out something on the computer in the hallway. “Hey there Lesia.” Her dark eyes found Hermione and smiled gently. “You must be Hermione.”

“Yes.” She said eagerly. 

“Alright.” Lesia said. “I’m going to leave you here for a bit. Remember. Stay in that chair.”

Hermione nodded her assent as Lesia and Jackie exchanged words and then the blonde woman left to go back down the hall. 

“Alright then.” Jackie said, coming behind her and releasing the brakes on the wheelchair. “I just finished taking down his vitals for now. He doesn’t have as many restrictions as some of our other patients, only one person in the room at a time, and hours for the ICU are 11-7. But since you’re the only one that’s not going to be an issue…”

Jackie wheeled her through the door into the relatively small space that was more equipment than room and Hermione, gripping the arms of the chair tightly had to bite back a surprised gasp.  
She should have prepared herself mentally. He was lying on his side, his chest and left shoulder and side bandaged heavily, and he looked deathly pale. She wondered grimly how far they had to cut to repair all the internal damage, and how much injury it had caused unseen. There were too many wires, too much hooked to him, and the overwhelming chaos of it all she knew was likely to trigger him into an absolute fit…

An unexpected and intense swell of emotion took root in her breast and she choked back a whining sob of anger and fear. 

“Aw honey, I’m sorry.” The nurse patted her shoulder when she paused in the door. “Do you know him?”

_Yes? No? A little? He once set a giant snake loose in our school, and held me at wand point with my friends and threatened to kill us all but now he’s delivered my baby and brought her back to life and got shot for it so I’m not really sure what’s happening anymore, I’m not even sure I left the train wreck, and that this isn’t some weird coma dream and I’m kind of freaking out a bit._

“Not very well.” she said aloud. “It’s just… you know. Everything.”

“Yes, crazy story that!” she said, positioning Hermione at the bedside and locking the brakes in place. “Now… he’s still quite out of it with all the medications… He’s been in and out. It may take him a while to be fully aware.”

Hermione knew she needed all the information she could get. She was sure he could be healed well magically, but anything she could tell the healers would be beneficial. She surmised magical healers didn’t see many gunshot wounds in their line of work.

“What did it do him?” Hermione asked, unsure if she wanted the whole answer. “My nurse mentioned a collapsed lung.”

The woman hesitated. 

“Please, I know you aren’t supposed to tell me anything really.” Hermione pleaded. “And just letting me in here might be breaking rules. But… I have no idea how to reach his family. I don’t even know where he’s living. He’s only here because he was helping me. Can you tell me _anything_?”

The nurse sighed, lips set in a grim hesitant line and she tossed a quick look over her shoulder.  
“He’s fortunate it was a small caliber. At such close range though… The entry wound is relatively small but when it went through… Anyway. He arrived here in shock, dangerous amount of blood loss, very unstable in general, with a tension pneumothorax. That’s where –“

Hermione grimaced, her brain beginning to tick through the potions that would be needed. “Yes, I know. Please, continue.”

The nurse nodded. “The emergency responders successfully decompressed the lung but there was a lot of damage that had to be fixed surgically, which unfortunately means more cutting. There were bone shards to try and remove, and the internal bleeding to be stopped. It was going as well as you could expect. But then we tried a blood transfusion that didn’t take. They stopped at the first sign of trouble, so we’ve only been able to offer supportive care while his body catches up on its own. So far he’s doing well.”

Hermione shook her head slowly. She was never going to take magical medicine or potions for granted ever again. One small vial of a replenishing potion… that was all. If only she’d held on to it, it might have made it here with her. Instead it was probably still in the woods or in some police evidence box by now… 

“If everything goes well,” Hermione asked, “How long will it take for him to recover?"

“Well… its early. But, if he rests, doesn’t have any secondary issues, he’ll be here a couple of weeks at least, I’m sure. Hard to tell with these things. He’ll have very specific discharge instructions and with any luck be back to his former self from several weeks to a few months out.”

Not if she had anything to say about it…

“Thank you.” she said out loud. “I appreciate you talking to me.”

The nurse smiled and patted her shoulder warmly again. “I’m glad he’s got someone. Saddest thing I see as a nurse has got to be the patients who have to fight alone.”

As the nurse left her alone with him, Hermione frowned at the man in front of her. 

This was stupid, Hermione thought bitterly, as she took in the full weight of his predicament. They were wizard. They had magic! He should not be lying in this hospital bed like this, neither of them should! If only she had her wand, or his, she could take care of some of his injuries at least without rousing too much suspicion, disillusion them both and they could just walk out!

Hermione didn’t really know how long she sat there, watching him, talking to him about nonsensical things. She wasn’t entirely sure he could even hear her, but if he could, maybe a familiar voice would keep him from hitting the proverbial roof when he did wake up, even if the voice was hers.

She sat back heavily in the chair, watching his chest rise and fall steadily, comforted by that small simple victory. She had barely had time to think, to process to fully accept what had happened. In a bit of numb realization, she recounted the facts, ticking them off in her head. She had boarded a train. That train had crashed. She’d become lost. She had gone into labor. Lucius Malfoy had found her and helped her deliver her baby. Then he’d been shot. They had been brought here…

Hermione rubbed her face with her hands briefly and blinked, shaking her head slowly. Yes it had all happened. This was no dream sequence, and whatever part of her brain that might have blocked off Lucius’ part in the story to protect her psyche from crumbling under the sheer insanity of it was cowed into submission by her presence here in his room. Here he was. Struggling but alive. Facts were facts.

It was everything else she was having trouble with.

Why had he helped her? She had had no choice but to rely on him – he was her only option. But why had he been willing? Why had her soul been filled with such dread and terror when he was struck down? Gratitude she supposed. Basic human decency. But that didn’t explain the way everything else seemed to fade away now. She was struggling to integrate the Lucius Malfoy she knew, and the Lucius Malfoy lying in front of her.

_I am not as cruel or monstrous as you think._

Those words echoed back at her. She supposed that had to be true given what had transpired. What she couldn’t fathom an answer to was this deep seated fear as she sat with him. What would it have meant to her if he had not survived? She pondered this question as she looked sadly at the bandages and gauze on his chest. Just a few mere inches to the right…

How would she have felt if the nurse had brought different news? 

Her head beginning to pound, she strove to shake away such thoughts. The whys and hows and what ifs weren’t important right now. She needed to be here, in this moment, present for Rose, recovering herself, and seeing that Lucius did as well.

Hermione looked up at the monitors. She was by no means an expert or even well versed in muggle medicine, but as far as she could understand, everything looked right. She frowned and gave a deep sigh, leaning forward on her forearms.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you.” she said. Hermione’s lips parted as she thought she heard a quiet groan and he shifted slightly. “Lucius? Are you awake? Can you hear me?!”

She sat frozen, waiting with bated breath as his eyelids flickered slowly. It was a struggle, it took several moments, but finally, he blinked, eyes opening slowly, bleary and dim with disorientation and pain. Confusion entered his expression, his brow furrowed as he looked slowly around what he could see of his surroundings.

She smiled in relief. “Hey, hi!” she whispered softly. “Lucius, its Hermione.” 

Muted recognition flickered as his eyes, unfocused and questioning, found her face. He tried to move, to speak but found the task obstructed. His breathing quickly became ragged and a quick glance upward towards the monitor showed her his blood pressure rising rapidly…

“Shh, no. No.” she soothed, laying her hand on his forearm, careful to avoid the IV. “Don’t talk. Don’t try to move.” She cautioned gently. “I don’t know if you remember but you were hurt trying to help me. Someone mistook you for… well it doesn’t matter. But we both lost consciousness, and we were taken to a muggle hospital.”

An angry panic brightened his eyes, and she felt his body tense, readying for a fight, his fist tightening aggressively on the bedsheet beneath his hand. She gasped for breath, choking, the fine pale hair on her arms standing on end with gooseflesh, as a firm pull like a strong magnet washed over her, as his magic began to crackle almost audibly in the air, her own reaching out in response. She looked up as the monitors began humming and malfunctioning, sharp bells signaling the staff, lights flickering on and off as the numbers on the screen scrambled illegibly, the sheet in his hand beginning to smoke and singe.

“No, no. Please. Don’t worry.” She said soothingly, laying her hand against his heaving chest, cautious of his wounds. “It’s alright. They’ve been treating you…”

She couldn’t explain what made her do it. She didn’t understand how she knew what he needed, any more than _he_ understood what _she_ needed in the woods as she gave birth to Rose. But she did and she touched his face, forcing his eyes towards hers, hoping he could hear her and understand. Her other hand she forced into his, her palm tingling with the magic sparking chaotically from his body.

“Just look at me. Not anything else. I know you don’t understand, but please trust me. They don’t know who you are. There are no enemies here. No threat to fight.”

Slowly, he calmed as she spoke and the monitors began to right themselves, his flesh cooling against her hand just as the nurse from before appeared at the doorway looking intent with three more behind her.

“He’s alright.” Hermione said. “Something odd happened with the monitors when he woke up, but it stopped now.”

Nurse Jackie crossed to the bed, peering into his eyes and then listening at his heart and lungs with a stethoscope, felt at his wrist, comparing her findings with the monitors. “Hmm. Strange.”

Lucius’ heart rate sped again, and Hermione could see the look of suspicion and confusion on his face. The others that had followed the nurse went back to their stations, and while the nurse was distracted, manually taking his blood pressure, Hermione leaned close. “Stay calm. Everything is fine.” She assured him quietly. “Diagnostic spells.”

“Alright.” Jackie said shaking her head. “Let’s try and keep that blood pressure down.”

“I’ll keep him calm.” Hermione promised. “He’s just a bit disoriented.” 

The nurse nodded. “That will improve. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Jackie left the room just then, telling someone named Jeremy to call someone to do a test on the equipment in Lucius’ room.

Hermione breathed a little easier, folding the now blackened corner of the sheet under the blanket so as to not be immediately visible. No idea how they’d explain that one. “Don’t worry. We’re going to get out of here. I got a message to Harry. I won’t abandon you here. I’ll see that they get you out.”

Lucius was still looking around him, panic had dissipated, replaced by a narrow-eyed wariness. Hermine tried to explain, hoping knowledge would assuage some of the shock and confusion.  
“I’m sure most everything is a blur right now.” She said quietly. “The muggle healers are trying to help you, they did something called a surgery. Its where they try and repair the damage the bullet did inside of you. That’s what…caused this.” She said, her fingertips ghosting over the bandages over the wound in his chest. “The man shot you in the back and it went through you, that’s why they had so much to fix.” 

She started pointing to the various pieces of equipment around them. “These are monitors, they let the healers know you’re alive and doing ok. That’s why these wires were put on your chest, and back. These sensors tell that machine what’s happening.” She glanced up curiously. “And apparently a magical outburst looks rather confusing to it… But anyway, they aren’t doing anything to you, it’s just reading, like when you use a wand to search for something.”

She watched his face closely, to see if he was aware, and he seemed to be following her. She pointed to the IVs and needle taped to his forearm. “I know this isn’t comfortable. But they are giving you things to help, sort of like potions that are put in your veins instead of drinking them. It comes from those fluid filled bags up there. This is keeping you hydrated, this one, is giving you something for the pain.” 

He didn’t appear to like the idea of that very much, but he met her eyes, listening. “And this, over your face, is bringing you oxygen to help you breathe. It might feel like you’re ok, but please leave it on for now. Your lung was what took the most damage and you may need it. Do you understand?”  
He closed his eyes tiredly, but he squeezed her hand. She looked down, startled, up until now she had forgotten she was still holding his hand. She smiled encouragingly and left it where it was. “I know it all must seem terribly confusing and barbaric, but it will help you, until I can get you out and get you some proper care.”

He looked at her, a silent smirk in his eyes, suddenly sparkling with muted, tired mischief and she rolled her eyes biting back a smile. “Proper for _you_. Not that its _improper_ just because they’re _muggles_.”

He chuckled ever so softly but then groaned in pain, closing his eyes tightly.

“Serves you right for being snarky.” She teased, swallowing down her fear. He really was far too pale, and she could see the blue tint of his veins in his temple and hands and his eyes were dark and shadowed. “You’d think if you can’t talk then you should at least not be a sarcastic bastard for just a _few_ minutes.” Her face fell and she looked back down at their clasped hands, covering his with her other. “Thank you.” She said, tears filling her eyes. “Thank you so much for what you did.”

Lucius hesitated, searching her face for she didn’t know what, and then nodded slowly. 

She smiled then. “And I have good news. When I spoke to Harry, I asked if he’d heard about Draco and his family. All three of them are safe.”

Lucius closed his eyes, breathing deeply in relief before he squeezed her hand again and muttered something that sounded like thank you.

“I’m sure I can get a message to them.” Hermione suggested. “I can go through Harry, he can—”  
Hermione stopped; brow furrowed as Lucius shook his head.

“No? But… he’s your son. Don’t you want him to know where you are? He could help, get you out of here to—”

Lucius shook his head again, and Hermione could see an intense sadness and hopelessness in his eyes that cut her deeply. Her lips parted in surprise. She vaguely remembered the day prior he had alluded that he was not on information sharing terms with his son but were things so strained that he wouldn’t care if his father had nearly been killed? Apparently, Lucius thought so.

“Lucius… is there anyone I can call or get a message to for you? _Anyone_ at all I can contact?”

He only closed his eyes tiredly, shaking his head again. Hermione frowned… Alone.

He let go of her hand and raised his to the oxygen mask. She objected, concerned, but he wouldn’t be dissuaded, and she opted to help him rather than watch him struggle. “Here. Here I’ll help.”

Free of the mask he swallowed and took a few slow breaths. “Rose?” he asked, his voice quiet and rasping. 

“She’s perfect.” She assured him with a smile. “They’re observing to make sure. All her tests have gone well. I got to sit with her for a bit. Then they let me come here to see you.”

“You…” he said, swallowing hard again, struggling to form the words he wanted. “Resting.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I know. That’s what my nurses said. But honestly. Between you and Rose, just sitting in my room will drive me out of my mind.” Her slight smile faded as he closed his eyes again with pain. “I had to make sure you were ok.” 

“You’re… alright?”

“Yes, they’ve been treating me for everything. I’m better.”

His brow furrowed questioningly.

“I just had some trouble…” she admitted. “Bleeding again.”

He nodded slowly, taking another few slow breaths. “My… fault?”

“Oh no, not at all.” She assured him, “No, if not for you I’d have probably bled to death before she was even born. No, there was just… a bit too much going on.”

Hermione looked on in some alarm as he seemed to be beginning to struggle and one of the numbers on the screen above them dropping slowly. Straightening, she picked up the mask. “Here. Let’s put this back for a while. Please?”

After she had fitted the oxygen mask back in place, she waited anxiously for him to catch his breath and she couldn’t resist taking his hand again. She didn’t know if it mattered to him that she was here, or even if she was wanted, but she felt an overpowering need to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone. He closed his eyes again, and slowly his chest rose and fell more steadily, with fewer gasping breaths and more even inhalation. She thought he had drifted back to sleep but then he opened his eyes.

“I’m sorry you were hurt so badly for your trouble.” She said sadly. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

He shook his head, looking as if he were going to try and speak again but stopped when they heard voices outside the door growing closer and she recognized her nurse from maternity.

“Ohh.” She grumbled, looking towards the door and then back to him. “They’re going to be coming for me. They want us both to rest and apparently sitting here with you doesn’t count. I’ll be back. Try and stay as relaxed as you can and rest, or you could really hurt yourself. Since neither of us have our wands, we’re stuck, so please… don’t try to get up or leave… just wait for me. Trust me. Alright?”

He stared at her and nodded slowly.

Hesitantly she let go of his hand with a final whispered promise to return and straightened as her nurse came in to take her back to her room. She only hoped he would remember later that she had been there and wouldn’t do anything crazy…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Well, she finally got to see him. That was an intense couple of days for our Lumione, wasn’t it? Think they can breathe now???


	8. Never Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius has quite a bit on his mind. Chapter 7 from his perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So, the next chapter is almost complete, but I ran into some trouble with my notes and timeline. So, while I get that sorted so I can keep writing smoothly, I wanted to offer a little appetizer. This is the previous chapter from Lucius’ POV. I don’t know how much if anything will be from his experience, but I thought this might entertain and whet your whistles while I get my notes re-situated. Enjoy and thank you again for following along!

_“And even as I wander, I'm keeping you in sight.  
You're a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter's night.  
And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might.” _  
**“I can't fight this feeling anymore” REO Speedwagon**

Lucius’ memory was fragmented – disjointed sounds and voices, a sensation of flying, and pain. Intense unrelenting pain was all he could focus on before slipping out of awareness once more. When he next awoke, brief though it was, he had a distinct feeling of being bound. He had never been able to abide that. That same terrible pain engulfed his chest making him dizzy with a searing agony. He’d never felt a curse like this. Something had awoken him, but he was not immediately sure what. His body felt heavy and he could smell his own blood. The woods… there had been something loud like a curse being fired and he’d felt something tear through him… That must be the cause of the blood. 

His first instinct was to inspect the damage, but he couldn’t move. There was a bright blinding light over his head and someone with their face half covered was peering down at him muttering something to a woman next to him. The next thing he knew, something was being placed over his face and an odd sinking feeling began to sweep over him. 

_What the hell was this?!_

Every horror story his grandfather and father had ever told him as a child came flooding back in stark and gruesome detail. Of emaciated prisoners stacked like cordwood in “concentration camps”, of vile experiments done on living patients, hospitals that acted as fronts for unimaginable terrors… 

What had the muggle in the forest done to them? Where had they taken Hermione and Rose?!  
Lucius’ hand curled into a fist. He was wandless but he would not go down quietly. He struggled against the invisible bonds that seemed to hold him down, pain knifing through his chest again, his breath arrested in shock. But it was to no avail and whatever they had put over his mouth began to drag him into unconsciousness yet again, but this time it was forced. He tried not to breathe it, but his body followed none of his commands and he was helpless against the persistent pull of sleep…  
When he felt consciousness returning to his grasp, he felt like he had to fight for it. Like clawing his way out of a tar pit or struggling to escape the cold clutches of the dementors that dogged his nightmares. The confusion was intense, his vision blurry, and cold. So intensely cold, but his body felt too numb and exhausted to even shiver. 

He could not immediately remember where he was or what had happened. Slowly, visions and sounds came back to memory. Flying. A loud whirling vibrating noise that he felt in his bones. Something long and sharp piercing his ribs, and the constricting strangling pressure around his lungs releasing him in a rush of blood… A flurry of activity somewhere cold and bright, voices, so many voices, talking, shouting, why was everyone shouting?

There was pain but slightly muted unless he moved or took too deep a breath. He still had something over his face, and he was vaguely aware of something wrapped tightly around his arm. A persistent and irritating high-pitched beeping reached his hearing, but he did not think he was awoken by that. No. Someone was calling his name and he felt a soft and gentle hand brush briefly against his face. Strange. Not even his mother in his deepest and most severe childhood illnesses had ever touched him like that. Who…?

“Lucius?” the voice said again.

He opened his eyes.

“It’s Hermione.”

It was difficult to see her. But he blinked and slowly her face came into better focus. She was leaning forward, staring at him intently, her warm brown eyes looking almost frightened. Silly girl. What did she have to be frightened of him for? He was obviously someone’s prisoner, what harm could he do her like this? But her worry was intense, and he moved to point this out to her but found himself still bound. And what was this infernal thing tied to him? His heart slammed against his ribs, his breath ragged as he looked for some answer to his confusion and current state…  
Suddenly he felt her hand on his arm. Her touch was warm, gentle and soothing and it startled him into temporary stillness. Why was this woman behaving this way?

“Don’t talk. Don’t try to move.” She told him. “I don’t know if you remember but you were hurt trying to help me. Someone mistook you for… well it doesn’t matter.”

Hermione. Hermione Granger. The woods. Muggle. 

_Oh_ … Right.

She wasn’t afraid OF him. Oddities of oddities she seemed to be afraid FOR him. He closed his eyes briefly but her next words snapped him out of his temporary quiet. “We both lost consciousness, and we were taken to a muggle hospital.”

Lucius’ eyes flew open. What the deuce? Muggles?! That explained the odd surroundings and unfamiliar equipment surrounding him. An infernal muggle clinic was the last place they needed to be. He needed to get out of here. No windows, one door. Anger burned in his chest and breathing was becoming difficult again. His ears rang and his vision narrowed as his eyes swept the room for a means of escape, or something to use as a weapon but still found his body unresponsive. They’d paralyzed him somehow! The bastards! They’d pay! He vowed never to be a prisoner again and _they would all pay!_

Hermione was speaking but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. Power surged in his body looking for exit, and he was vaguely aware of more blasted damnable noise, bells and alarms out of control, likely alerting his captors –

Suddenly Hermione touched his face, her hand gentle but insistent and he looked at her. “Just look at me.” She said softly. “Not anything else. I know you don’t understand, but please trust me. They don’t know who you are. There are no enemies here. No threat to fight.”

Lucius searched her eyes, looking for deception, danger… he had served his purpose as far as she was concerned, she could easily give him over to enemies known or unknown… But strangely he found nothing of the kind. Her eyes were open, pleading. As his heart ceased its erratic pounding and the flesh he hadn’t been aware was burning cooled, he felt something foreign to him, and he was slowly becoming aware of her small hand pressed into his. It felt like… 

Comfort.

That momentary startling confusion was enough to stall him. The surge of magic retreated, but it left him in greater pain and weariness. Her hand tightened on his, her slender index finger stroking his knuckles almost absentmindedly and he wondered if she was even aware that she was doing it. But her touch was gentle and calming. He would have to consider that phenomena later when he felt he could think properly enough to process it, and he had bigger problems it seemed. 

A young dark-haired woman had entered the small room, and there were a few more muggles in the hall blocking the door. He watched her closely as she moved around him, and Hermione said something to her about monitors. That must be what these odd contraptions the stranger was so interested in were…

The woman shined a light into his eyes, peering at him most peculiarly before she took something from around her neck and put the ridiculous thing in her ears. Adding to his confusion, she placed the other end of it over his chest. What the hippogriff’s arse was she doing? Evidently not satisfied, she placed her hand on his wrist, and he tensed at the stranger’s unwelcomed and unfamiliar touch.

His fist tightened again as the woman began fiddling with the odd something around his bicep and it became more constricting… but then Hermione leaned closer and spoke quietly. “Stay calm. Everything is fine. Diagnostic spells.”

So, she was a healer. _If you say so._

The thing around his arm turned him loose and the woman spoke again in a tone that suggested deep uncertainty. “Alright. Let’s try and keep that blood pressure down.”

 _Well I’m hardly responsible for what these blasted machines are doing now, am I?_  
Hermione was speaking to the other woman again, but Lucius heard little. He was trying to take in his surrounding, each attempt to turn his head sending sharp jolts of pain and discomfort through his chest and side. What the bloody hell had they done to him?

His eyes swept over the room as he struggled to think strategically but the pain and weariness in his body was thoroughly distracting. The best thing he could compare to his current setting was a laboratory and that only added to his confusion and irritation. Hermione had said it was a hospital, but it didn’t resemble any hospital he’d ever encountered. But… muggles had odd ways about them in the best of times. 

“Don’t worry. We’re going to get out of here. I got a message to Harry. I won’t abandon you here. I’ll see that they get you out.”

When Lucius looked back at Hermione as she spoke, he saw they were alone, the other woman, apparently, had gone. If he’d had the energy he might have snorted in derision. And just who could she appeal to that would give a damn about his current predicament? But the thought was oddly endearing. 

Apparently sensing the deep level of his disorientation, the girl launched into an attempt to explain the objects around – and in – him and their purpose. The angry side annoyed with the muggle environment didn’t care, but the strategic side being confined to a hospital bed appreciated the information. 

He understood very few of the words she used, and only a vague understanding of what bullets and firearms were from books on warfare. But apparently a great many people had meddled with his body which at least explained this pain he was in. Repair she claimed it was. Hmm.

He followed her gestures as she continued to explain what was happening to him and he was relatively undisturbed until she tried to explain the needle in his forearm. Potions that went into the blood. How ineffective and sadistic… And something about damage and breathing… How badly was he injured that he needed assistance with such a basic function? She sounded distressed and was asking for his cooperation and closing his eyes tiredly he could only squeeze her hand in answer.  
“I know it all must seem terribly confusing and barbaric, but it will help you, until I can get you out and get you some proper care.”

Lucius opened his eyes. That was an interesting statement now wasn’t it? Proper care indeed. She must have heard the implication as well, for she rolled her expressive eyes, her full lips tugging into a smile that banished the worry and tension from her too pale face and gave her a pleasant, almost glowing look. 

“Proper for _you_.” She clarified. “Not that its _improper_ just because they’re _muggles_.”

Maybe it was these so-called potions addling his brain, but he found the comment and her stubborn commitment to the suitability of muggles distractedly amusing. He couldn’t help the barest of a laugh from rising from his chest but swiftly regretted it, the uncomfortable jolts of warning bursting across his flesh and down his ribs and he closed his eyes tightly breathing deeply. 

“Serves you right for being snarky.” She chastised. “You’d think if you can’t talk then you should at least not be a sarcastic bastard for just a _few_ minutes.”

The words were teasing but he saw a distinct falling of her features as she searched his face. Intense sadness and concern filled her expression and he gazed at her as the brightness of tears filled her eyes. He was not entirely sure what he expected but her covering his hand with both of hers and looking at him intently was not it. Nor were the softly spoken words of gratitude she said to him. 

“Thank you so much for what you did.”

Lucius stared at her, searching again for a hint of irony, derision, or some form of entitled _serves you right_ attitude that he was sure he deserved on many levels… But found none. He nodded in acknowledgement. Had she really thought he might leave her where he found her? Condemn her baby to death for bigotry’s sake? Was he that much of a demon in her eyes? He thought this only halfheartedly. Of course, she had thought it. And that truth caused a discomfort that had nothing to do with the hole bored through his chest. 

She smiled then. A soft, brilliant smile. “And I have good news.” She said, her eyes alighting. “When I spoke to Harry, I asked if he’d heard about Draco and his family. All three of them are safe.”

Lucius closed his eyes. The train. Draco, Astoria and Scorpius. More of the previous hours, or days, he had no idea at this point, began coming back to him in foggy but persistent pieces. His head pounded with the memory of learning from the elves that Draco and his family had boarded a train that had derailed and not yet been heard of. He had never, since learning Voldemort had marked his son, felt such a fear and panic…

He had gotten to the site, sending his elf to scour every hospital, magical and muggle, as he searched the crash site. Even the most deadly death eater attack had not been so gruesome, the sight of broken bodies, twisted metal, and the offensive smell of blood, smoke and burned flesh that plagued him until he found no evidence of his son and family and was forced to search elsewhere before that search was interrupted by an equally terrifying discovery…

The subject of that discovery had now brought him news that could have been an elixir of life itself so painfully forceful was his relief. He squeezed her hand again and struggled out an audible “thank you”. His throat was intolerably dry and pained.

“I’m sure I can get a message to them.” Hermione continued hopefully. “I can go through Harry, he can—”

What? Oh, gods above no. Lucius shook his head, evidently confusing her. 

“No?” she said, her brow creased as she stared own at him. “But… he’s your son. Don’t you want him to know where you are? He could help, get you out of here to—”

Lucius shook his head again. No, there was a reason he had not been able to inquire at St. Mungoes himself, a reason Lucius had no better method to trace him but a generalized charmed dust to detect magical signatures… His son would not welcome his interference, even if it was intended to save his life. And he suspected, to his great mental detriment and emotional agony, that no injury could be great enough to make Draco recall his love for him as his father.

Hermione looked down at him in surprise, lips parted in a silent gasp and he felt her hand shift in his as if this revelation distressed her on his behalf. “Lucius… is there anyone I can call or get a message to for you? _Anyone_ at all I can contact?”

He did not know why her question struck him so deeply. He closed his eyes, not usually given to even the barest of admissions of being wounded but he was tired… so very incredibly tired… and he feared every shred of regret, pain and loneliness, self-inflicted but no less acute, was visible on his face. He shook his head in answer. Society had shunned him. His wife had left him almost immediately. And he had arrived home after being unexpectedly pardoned to find divorce papers and a son that had publicly disowned him. 

He could have made things difficult but after everything that had transpired he simply signed the papers, turned the manor over to Draco and left the documentation of his surrender at his empty place at the breakfast table, leaving his ancestral home alone, wandless and in deeper disgrace and pain than anything the ministry could have inflicted upon him… His chest ached at the not distant enough memory. He had not heard a kind word nor felt a peaceful touch from another human being for years. Until the woman now sitting by his bedside, holding his hand in hers. 

But he was more than a bit tempted to chalk it up to gratitude and not let himself get too caught up in the softness of her palm against his, nor the kind and concerned way she was looking at him. 

But this thought process, however groggy and fractured it presented itself in his mind, led him full circle to the whole catalyst for his current state. The child. And on that note… since he was in such a self-reflective mood he may as well admit internally at least…

He had never been so fucking terrified in his entire life.

He had been largely operating under a level of instinct that he hadn’t known he possessed but between concern over his son, the arresting horror of finding Ms. Granger in the state she was in and realizing what he was going to have to do, all finished off with the nightmarish feel of the child laying in his arms still and lifeless…

Of such force was his internal and persistent panic, getting shot and subsequently bleeding and choking into unconsciousness was a welcome relief. 

Still…

Lucius let go of her hand and raised it to his face. His fingertips brushed the odd, hard material and he tried to remove it. “No no!” Hermione pleaded. “Please don’t! You need it!”

Frowning in disapproving resignation as he persisted, Hermione shook her head and offered her aid and she untangled the contraption from him, and he took several steadying breaths of real air. It must have been lending him more assistance than he thought for each breath felt like a battle now and his chest ached with the effort, but he needed to know.

“Rose?” he managed, his voice rough and forced even to his own hearing.

She smiled in understanding taking his hand again. “She’s perfect. They’re observing to make sure. All her tests have gone well. I got to sit with her for a bit. Then they let me come here to see you.”  
He frowned. He was not entirely, what one would call, “with it” but it did not take a sharp-witted strategist to catch the implication of permissiveness. And she did not need to be here with him. If the child was separated from her then surely that meant she should be recovering in peace and quiet.

“You…” he said but trailed off. There was much he wanted to say, but ability would not obey his desire. He swallowed again, struggling to force his dry and uncooperative throat to speak the words. “Resting.” He finally choked out. 

The stubborn woman actually rolled her eyes at him again. “I know. That’s what my nurses said.” She admitted. Then her eyes brightened, ready to make defense. “But honestly. Between you and Rose, just sitting in my room will drive me out of my mind.” 

Speaking had done him no favors and the ache in his body persisted. He closed his eyes, beginning to feel a drowsy and lightheaded sensation. When he opened his eyes again, she was staring down at him with… something. It was something more than simple concern born of human decency… but nothing so pride injuring as pity. It was… something warmer.

“I had to make sure you were ok.” 

Really? He thought a bit hollowly.

“You’re… alright?” he asked aloud.

“Yes, they’ve been treating me for everything. I’m better.” 

He looked at her inquisitively. Perhaps things were different in the muggle world, but “treatment” was not often needed in the event of childbirth, unless there were extenuating problems. So…

“I just had some trouble…” she said, reading his question in his face and shifting uncomfortably, her eyes reflecting the memory of her experience. “Bleeding again.”

He nodded slowly; eyes closed as he tried to remember the rest of the accompanying events. Yes, she’d gone very pale and chilled. Her body shaking. She said she felt funny. An uncomfortable nausea rose in his gut to remember it. But he opened his eyes, another thought striking him. He was no healer. What if he had unwittingly exacerbated the problem? “My… fault?” he asked.

“Oh no, not at all.” She answered quickly. “No, if not for you I’d have probably bled to death before she was even born. No, there was just… a bit too much going on.”

He was grateful for that at least. The image of the child, still and turning blue returned to his mind’s eye, along with the memory of Hermione and the alarming amount of blood when he had found her. What if she _had_ been alone? Or what if he had failed in his attempts to revive the child? He had paid dearly for the summoning of help it seemed, but even the blasted muggle who had done this to him had served a purpose. But what if there had been no one? He would have had to keep his promise. Take the child, leaving Hermione and returned to what exactly? Likely her, bled out, pale and cold as death…

He did not have the stamina to analyze why, but the image was vivid, deeply ingrained and distressing and his already stymied breath constricted further, and he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness again. He could hear Hermione speaking, but he felt as if he were listening to her through water. She sounded a bit panicked. He was vaguely sorry for it before clear thought abandoned him completely. 

He wasn’t sure how long he was out. It could not have been long. But when he opened his eyes, the thing she had called an oxygen mask was back over his face and her hand was clutching his tightly. His next coherent thought was of how lovely that sensation of her hand in his was…

He was more addled than he thought. He was never accused of being a warm or sentimental man. He had never considered himself so weak as to have need of these kinds of things like concern, and care. The gods knew he’d not had occasion in his life to experience them… 

“I’m sorry you were hurt so badly for your trouble.” She said sadly. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

That look was back in her eyes. Soft and endearing. He wondered if she knew how much she displayed in her expression. But there was something else he saw in the honeyed brown depths… guilt. 

He did not understand why… but he could not have her blaming herself for this…

But before he could work up the strength or breath to try and convey to her absolution in this chaotic mess she looked towards the door and he could hear footsteps approaching.

“Ohh.” She muttered with a tone of irritation. “They’re going to be coming for me. They want us both to rest and apparently sitting here with you doesn’t count.”

Lucius wasn’t sure which surprised him more. That she evidently desired to stay with him… or that he did.

“I’ll be back.” She promised. “Try and stay as relaxed as you can and rest, or you could really hurt yourself. Since neither of us have our wands, we’re stuck, so please… don’t try to get up or leave… just wait for me. Trust me. Alright?”

He stared at her for a moment, processing her words and nodded slowly. His first instinct was still escape, but did not her sincerity and kind consideration not earn some degree of trust? and was he beyond all sense and reason, or did she hesitate when she straightened and let go of his hand? His flesh felt oddly cold where her palm had laid firmly in his. He watched her tiredly as the nurse took hold of her chair and escorted her out of his room. Just at the door she turned back and met his eyes with a soft encouraging smile. Despite her own struggles, despite her own fears and pain and exhaustion she was concerned for his… The realization warmed him and with that slight but genuine smile she turned on him, his heart sped, yet the pain in his chest fading.

Now just what should he make of that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the interlude. What do you think? Originally, I planned this to be just Hermione’s POV, but what are your opinions? More Lucius??


	9. A Lovelier Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has unexpected visitors and goes to see Lucius again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback on our interlude last chapter, I’m glad everyone liked the brief change of pace!  
> Fancast for nurse Madge, Ann Dowd.

_”Sometimes you wonder if this fight is worthwhile.  
The precious moments are all lost in the tide.  
They're swept away and nothing is what is seems.  
The feeling of belonging to your dreams.”_   
**“Listen to your heart” Roxette**

Hermione was exhausted after a day of being with Rose and then visiting Lucius in the afternoon. Her bruises made sure she was aware of exactly where each of them was, and her head pounded distractingly. But there was no way in hell she was going to let it show. Her nurses were watching her particularly close, concerned for all her activity even though she was in the wheelchair or her bed. But ultimately, they were satisfied and when Hermione awoke the next morning, she was ecstatically surprised with Rose being brought to her room after she’d eaten her breakfast.

An unexpected emotional thrill swept through her at the sight of her tiny cart being wheeled into the room instead of having to beg to go and see her. She grinned like a fool, tears in her eyes and scooped her up as soon as nurse Jasmine had locked the wheels in place. 

“She’s passing everything with flying colors. We’ll still monitor her intermittently through the day and take her back to be watched over night, but right now there’s no reason to keep her from you.” Jasmine smiled brightly as Hermione thanked her profusely and she settled back in her bed with Rose cradled in her arms. 

Hermione wondered curiously if the restorative potions Lucius had used to revive her had anything to do with how exceptionally well she was doing. She would have to discuss it with the healers at St. Mungoes but for now, she wouldn’t question it, she would simply be thrilled. She did however, grilled the muggle doctors on every possibility, percentage, statistic and rarity they could possibly face, but they indulged and answered her patiently, for which she was eternally grateful. She supposed worry would always be a part of her life now, but she lived for information, and answers eased the chaos that always bubbled up with uncertainty. 

But holding her pink, wiggly, soft cheeked daughter in her arms seemed to be the cure of cures for any possible angst…

Having Rose in the room with her meant she could easily nurse her and see to her other needs. It was odd how much joy the simple mundane task of changing her nappy gave her. But she did it with a giddy smile. When she wasn’t sleeping, she was in Hermione’s arms, gurgling and cuddling as if her entrance to the world had been a sequence of perfection and peace. 

So very lost was she in the creamy face and sparkling blue eyes of her daughter that she didn’t hear, see or perceive the two people who had walked in until she heard a familiar voice mutter in shock.

“Merlin’s bloody beard.”

Hermione looked up, her lips parting in shock of her own. “Ron? Harry?!”

The two of them were standing in the doorway, gaping, pale faced and hair more mussed than usual, clothes disheveled and eyes tired. They looked like she’d felt yesterday… 

“Oh my god.” Hermione said, tears filling her eyes and spilling under her lashes as relief she didn’t know she needed poured over her. “I’m so happy to see you both.”

Her tears seemed to snap them out of the shock they were in and both of them came forward rushing to opposite sides of her bed and they each put their arms around her. She cried into Ron’s shoulder while Harry patted her hair and after a few minutes caught her breath, feeling like a fool.

“Oh gosh I’m sorry.” She said, wiping at her soaked reddened eyes. “Its been a hell of a couple days. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“No no, we get that, we do.” Harry assured her. 

“Blimey, I was terrified.” Ron said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “We were losing our minds looking for you Mione. I’m sorry we fought before you left.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I’m sorry too.”

“Seems so stupid now.” Ron rubbed the back of his neck flushing. But then he leaned forward, smiling lopsidedly at the bundle in Hermione’s arms, undisturbed by the commotion and tears. “So, this is her? Wow. I can’t believe this. God she’s gorgeous. Can I hold her, is it safe?” 

“Yes, yes absolutely!” Hermione answered and carefully laid her in Ron’s arms. Rose stirred at being handed off but settled and blinked slowly up at him. 

“She’s got red hair!” he grinned. “Didn’t think she’d have so much hair! And she’s alright? I mean your message said she was. But, she’s really _really_ alright?”

Hermione nodded, smiling as Ron rocked her. “Yes. She’s fine. They still want her to be monitored overnight in the nursery but so far there’ve been no problems.”

“The baby…” Ron said softly shaking his head. “I can’t believe I missed it.”

Hermione frowned. “I know. I’m so sorry Ron, I know how excited you were.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe.” He said with a smile. 

“But Hermione.” Harry interjected, standing and crossing to the other side of the bed to get a better look at his honorary niece. “How did you end up here and without a wand? Did it get lost in the train accident? There wasn’t much detail in your message.”

“I… I think so.” Hermione thought. “That last place I remember my wand was before the crash.”

“Before we got your message, we went to the crash site, actually found your beaded bag.” Harry pulled it out of his pocket and handed the crumbled up worse for wear mass to her. “It’s a bit beat up but its in one piece. No wand in it though, sorry.”

“Thanks!” Hermione breathed in surprise. She had figured it would be as lost as her wand.

“We’re going to go back and look for your wand, try a few tracking spells but we may have to buy you a new one.” Ron said. “So then without a wand, did the medics bring you here?”

“Not exactly.” She said. She hadn’t included the full story in her message on the phone. Both in concern for length and the simple fact certain aspects should be relayed in person. She briefly told them the story as she remembered it. The train derailing, getting out of the rubble, feeling labor pains, wandering and not remembering where she was or how she got there. Passing out and waking up the next morning with contractions and bleeding… 

“I was panicking.” She continued. “But I couldn’t do anything, I could barely walk, I was alone, lost, didn’t have my wand. But, Rose wasn’t going to wait.”

“Oh my god Hermione, you had her _alone_?” Ron blanched. 

“Um… no.” she answered. “Someone actually found me. They delivered her and helped me until the medics arrived. It’s a good thing they did, she wasn’t conscious. I was terrified but he got her breathing again…”

Ron and Harry, mouths hanging open, both looked down at Rose, once again sleeping peaceful and content. 

“Who found you?” Harry asked, looking absolutely gob smacked by the tale.

She thought of telling them the whole truth, for about a nanosecond as she opened her mouth and then closed it again. She tested the words out in her head. _Well it was actually a funny story. You know Lucius Malfoy – yes THAT Lucius Malfoy, he found me helpless in the middle of the woods and delivered our baby._

No. Ron would hit the roof.

“Someone who was out looking for survivors. He had family on the train too.”

“We could have lost her.” Ron said a bit numbly. “Both of you.”

“But we didn’t.” Harry said firmly, clapping Ron on the shoulder. “Rose and Hermione are safe, Molly and Ginny are back at your flat getting everything ready and finishing the nursery we thought we had another month to finish, and the transfer from here to St. Mungoes will be here tomorrow.”

“Transfer.” Hermione repeated. “Can’t you just take me home now?”

“Um, no?” Harry answered flatly. 

“A train wreck, premature labor _and_ post-partum hemorrhage?” Ron added. “You’re getting transferred, and you’re getting checked out at St. Mungoes. Both of you. They’re making special arrangements for Rose.” 

“They’ve never had to rescue a baby from a muggle hospital before.” Harry supplied.

_Speaking of that._

“But Harry.” She persisted. “The wizard who is here that I mentioned on the phone… is there any way he can be transferred first? They might let me go home from _here_ and then it won’t matter anyway and he –"  
“No way! You’re barking!” Ron said hotly, his head snapping up from staring down at Rose. “You’re _both_ going to St Mungoes where you can be checked out magically.”

“But I’m ok now, and I can just walk Rose in myself to be looked at.” She insisted. “And the man who is here, he’s in _really_ bad shape and doesn’t have any family to make arrangements for him.”

Ron and Harry looked at each other with the same look they gave each other when she started on about elf welfare in school, and it was Harry who answered. “Well. If you _promised_ to go in on your own. Ron gets the task of seeing that you do. But they need the information on him.”

Galvanized, Hermione fumbled around at the bedside table and found a notepad and pen. “Here.” 

Hermione wrote out everything she could tell them quickly. His name, where he was, and everything she knew of his condition. Hopefully it would be enough. “Will you give this to them? As soon as you go back? They can just change it from me to him.”

She folded it, wrote St. Mungoes on the outside and extended it to Harry, who nodded and pocketed it. But Ron was curious.

“How do you know all this?” he asked. “Who’s the wizard? And why doesn’t he just send a patronus or leave?”

“Oh uh… Just some man. But he doesn’t have a wand and there’s no way he could apparate anyway. Hurt too badly. Say, how does the transfer work anyway? Can’t apparate like this, I’d imagine most people they pick up shouldn’t…”

Suitably distracted Ron and Harry both nodded excitedly. “Yeah, we went to check that out when we told them where you were!” Ron said, in a tone reminiscent of one he’d use explaining a really exciting quidditch play.

“Really. Awesome. Enchanted. Ambulances.” Harry enunciated, gesturing intensely with his hands. “Looks like a regular muggle ambulance but it can fly, cloak, drive high speeds, you name it. It’s like a Knight Bus without all the flying around the car and slamming into walls.”

Hermione laughed. 

It did her good to see familiar faces and have a short time of brevity. Ron eventually relinquished hold of Rose to allow Harry to introduce himself and when she awoke, it was pleasantly and with little fussing. They sat with her through having her lunch, and then reluctantly departed to finish preparing for their homecoming.

She had not long been settled in the silence once more, Rose freshly nursed that Hermione began to feel drowsy from the excitement and carefully placing her daughter in the bassinet beside her bed, closed her eye for a few minutes of rest. 

A few minutes turned into a couple of hours and she was opening her eyes to Mae coming in with a smile ready to get Rose settled for the night back in the NICU. Hermione watched with an odd mixture of disappointment and relief, both saddened by the loss of her and encouraged that she would be well observed overnight. 

“Don’t worry mum,” the nurse encouraged. “Everything is looking good especially compared to her scores when she was admitted.”

“Alright.” She said anxiously. “Since you’re taking her out for the evening, could I-“

“See Lucius while she’s gone.” Mae finished with a grin. “You know one of the purposes of her going to the nursery is for you to _rest_.”

Hermione smiled hopefully.

“Oh, alright.” Mae relented. “To be honest I think it’s cute. Let me take her to the NICU and I’ll be back for you.”

It was still early in the evening, almost 5oclock and she sighed contentedly at the warm bath of orange sunset that spilled across the hallways as Mae wheeled her through the facility. But soon, she was faced with the familiar change from warm and comfortable to cold and clinical. But her curiosity was soon piqued and Mae paused several yards away from Lucius’ room, faced with a commotion. 

Two police officers were standing in the hallway, with irritable expressions, and a tall older nurse with her arms folded, scolding them harshly, complete with a stout finger waving at them in disapproval.

“Madge doesn’t bite but we’re gonna wait back here anyway.” Mae whispered conspiratorially. 

Hermione glanced back at Mae and then onward towards the fuss.

“Absolutely not.” The nurse Mae had called Madge was almost shouting. “He’s in no condition to answer questions!”

“Miss this is involving a criminal investigation and –“

“And you’re not in charge here, I am, and I’ll not have you disturbing my patients! Now shoo! Shoo shoo shoo! No visitors!”

The officers gave up, shaking their heads and walking away and Mae pushed Hermione forward.

“How about me, ma’am?” Hermione asked, admittedly nervous at the square faced, matronly leviathan standing like a guard dog at his door.

The burly nurse smiled, her face changing instantly into mystifying softness. “You? Absolutely. You seemed to do him good yesterday. He asked about you.”

“He did?”

“Yes. Wanted to know if you were there or if he hallucinated you.” Madge winked.

“Is that normal?” Hermione asked with a bite of concern.

“Oh, certainly.” she said with a wave of her large hand. “Waking up from surgery can be disorienting, especially after a trauma. He’ll sort himself out. He’s speaking today. You go ahead in honey.”

Mouthing “I’ll be back”, Mae wheeled her into the room, set the brakes and ducked out quickly, shutting the door behind her.

Hermione breathed a bit easier when she saw Lucius. He wasn’t wearing the oxygen mask today, it was laying across his abdomen, held limply in his hands, and the bed was slightly inclined. She also noticed with relief that the chest tube had been removed as well, leaving instead another bandage taped over his ribs. His eyes were closed when she was placed at his bedside, his breathing slow and even but when the door closed quietly, his eyes opened slowly and he blinked, brow furrowed as he glanced around and then turned his head towards her. 

“Hi.” She greeted him with a weak, slightly nervous, smile. Why was her stomach twisting in these fluttering knots?

He still looked exhausted, but his grey blue eyes were alert and clear today. “Hermione.” He said quietly, in a tone that betrayed surprise. His voice was low and gruff when he spoke, the words forced but at least he was speaking. “You came back.”

“I said I would…” she reminded him. “Is it alright that I’m here?”

“Yes, of course.” He answered, shifting carefully in the bed to turn his body towards her more fully. “But _should_ you be?”

“Oh. Well.” She considered. “Rose is back in the nursery for the night. And to be honest I hate laying in the bed, but they don’t like it when I pace in my room, and…” She paused, wondering if she should confess the rest. “And I’ve been anxious to see that you were alright.”

He smiled weakly. “Then if you can... Stay.”

The relief that trickled through her was surprising. After everything she wasn’t sure how she’d have felt if he’d sent her away in disgust now that he was lucid and had time to think. But instead of a forced politeness he seemed genuinely pleased to see her. 

“It’s good to see you awake.” She said. “How are you today?”

He took a few slow breaths before answering. “Alive.” He said. 

“Do you remember me coming yesterday?”

Lucius nodded, “You told me all the things… they were invading my body with.”

She smiled. His voice was quiet, his lips barely moving to form the words but he was speaking in full, clear sentences and she leaned in to hear him better, resting her forearms on the edge of his bed.

“What was all the chaos outside?” he asked her.

“Police wanted to ask you questions and the nurse told them no. Quite forcefully.”

He nodded once.

“I didn’t give them your name by the way.” She reminded him. “I thought you should make the decision of how much to reveal to them.”

“Thank you.” he said, staring at her intently, pausing before adding. “You look well, Hermione.”

She looked up startled. “What?”

“Color. Not pale or deathly ill and exhausted.” He explained, 

“Oh yes.” She answered. “I’m much better. They’ve been talking about releasing me in a day or two. Speaking of release. I got word to Harry to pass along to St. Mungoes. I asked them to take you first.”

Lucius looked up, momentarily taken aback and then he broke eye contact becoming very interested in the far wall. “You shouldn’t have done that.” He said quietly.

“You’re hooked up to more machines than I am, so you go first, that’s the rule.” Hermione told him.

He smirked skeptically but she was glad to see life in his eyes. “Is that so?” he challenged.

“Yes, it is.” She insisted. “I’m going to be released soon anyway. So, you really should be taken to get help first.”

“I will not be.” He said, seemingly quite sure of it. “But thank you in any case… for your concern… Who did this to me?”

She frowned sadly, her heart racing at the memory. “Skittish muggle. Thought you were a serial rapist or something.”

Lucius rolled his eyes in a quiet scoff, dropping his head back tiredly. “Naturally. Someone finally gets close to a kill shot and it’s for one of the few things I have never done.”

Hermione answered with a breathy, quiet, laugh not sure if she should be horrified or bemused. “Would it have somehow been better if it was for something you _have_ done?”

“Of course.” he said, mildly affronted. “At least then I’d have earned it.”

That time she did laugh. “That is such a Slytherin response to getting _shot_. You’re actually _offended_ at the motivation behind your near death.”

“Well, a wizard must have his standards, Ms. Granger.” He said with, of all things, a tired but clear wink.

She smiled but trailed off with a frown as he inhaled sharply and closed his eyes struggling to catch his breath. “Should you be without that?” she asked, nodding towards the mask when he met her eyes again. 

“Seeing how long I can manage.” He answered quietly.

Hermione gave him a scolding look. “Is now the time for experimentation?”

“I loathe dependency.” He replied simply. “And if I become too depleted, that alarm sounds and the nurse comes in and takes me to task while she forces it back on. I don’t think she likes me very much.”

Hermione smirked. “Well fortunately they have to treat you anyway even if you’re stubborn. But please be careful. Your lung is still healing.”

He nodded cautiously and closed his eyes. “Tell me… about Rose…” he asked.

“Oh, she’s still doing wonderfully.” She beamed. “And she’s beautiful. When you’re well again, I will have to bring her to you so you can see her in much better circumstances. I uh…” Hermione clasped her hands together a bit anxiously. “I wanted to say again… today when you’re more clear headed… She’s only alive because of you, Lucius. There just… are no words possible to tell you how grateful I am. Thank you. I can never begin to repay you.”  
He shook his head. “It is not needed.”

She smiled. “Well you make a fair healer in a pinch. You’d think you’d done it a dozen times before.”

His expression faltered and he suddenly didn’t want to meet her eyes. “Five.”

Hermione’s lips parted. “What?”

“Five.” He took a deep breath, his face stoically set, but his eyes showed a deep and cutting pain. “Draco was our fourth child…” he explained between breaths. “Two still births and a late miscarriage… before him and a very… early one after him… I was beside her each time. Eventually you… remember these things.”

“Oh my god… I…” Hermione shook her head slowly, an overwhelming wave of sadness tumbling over her and her heart ached. “I’m so sorry. It must have been so difficult… going through it again with me. Your memories must have been wreaking havoc.”

“Yes.” He admitted. “It is strange… the things you think are behind you… until they return with such violence.”

Hermione frowned. She knew that all too well. 

“I thank the gods Draco lived… because I don’t think I would have survived it again.” He admitted with a deep breath. “And poor Narcissa… was at her wits end.” 

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes with a haunted and palpable empathy. “I am sorry you had to experience it… For even a moment. It is a terrible pain… And I was glad to spare you from it… So, no repayment is needed.”  
Hermione’s lips parted as he touched her hand. Strangely she had wanted that contact. But she was unsure if she should. It was one thing when he was delirious from surgery and excessive medications but now that he was more alert, she suddenly didn’t know how to behave. She thought he might withdraw from propriety if she risked such an intimacy. Or recoiled in disgust. But this time _he_ sought _her_ out. It was brief, but warm and sincere. Two words she’d have never used to describe him in her wildest fancies. 

Hermione swallowed when he moved his hand away and her skin felt cold and bereft, and she confessed herself thrown fully for a loop. She could handle cold detached Lucius. She could handle snarky Lucius. She could handle screwed by fate into helping her birth her daughter while trying not to panic Lucius. She could even handle pureblood supremacist arse Lucius. But this unfiltered, raw, pained, and honest Lucius was proving far more difficult to integrate to the image she had in her head. But instead of being put off, she found herself intrigued by the enigma. The last time she had ever seen Lucius Malfoy in person was the day of his and Draco’s acquittal. And she had honestly never given him much thought in the two years post war. Now it was as if fate was giving her a puzzle to piece together. She was seeing layers and intricacies and depth that she had never had cause to see – or that he had never allowed anyone to see. 

Why?

He had not exactly ever given anyone reason or cause to think well of him. But still… Was this side of him she was now viewing a new acquisition? Or long buried and only just let out? Or had it been there all along, and she had just never had cause or desire to notice? Had she limited the complexities of his humanity to a two-dimensional villain of a children’s novel out of anger that he’d certainly earned? Or had _he_ limited _himself_ intentionally, in some misguided idea of a defense strategy?

Her questions must have shown on her face as she stared at him, brow furrowed, for when she snapped back to the immediate surroundings of his hospital room, he was looking at her with a perplexed air of study. “Hermione?”

“Uh, sorry.” She said distractedly, shaking the thoughts from her mind before they could find her tongue. That was all a heavy conversation that she didn’t think either of them had the strength for. “This is all just a bit… much to take in. Sitting here. Talking with you like this.”

“Mm.” he muttered. “I suppose it is.”

But the conversation had seemed to take the life out of him. He couldn’t seem to hold his head up any longer and he closed his eyes tiredly. She sat forward, concerned, slipping her hand back in his as he gripped it in pain. “I’m sorry.” She said. “Too much. Too soon.”

He shook his head and tied to speak again, but it turned to a cough, slowly worsening in severity until he groaned audibly in pain, his free hand held tightly over his chest. She reached out instinctively, brushing her fingertips across his temple soothingly as she took the oxygen mask and held it up to him. “It’s alright. Slow breaths.” 

Looking around she saw a cup of water on the table beside them and leaning over, took hold of it and brought it to his lips once his breath came steadier. He recovered in a few moments and surprisingly smiled.

“You know.” He breathed. “As far as visions go for me with these muggle potions… you’re one of the lovelier ones.”

His voice trailed off and his head dropped heavily to the side as sleep took hold of him tightly and she smiled a bit sadly, wondering if he had thought she was a hallucination the entire time or only as he grew more tired. She knew he was on quite a bit of medication for the pain, and unaccustomed to muggle medicine. A sudden idea struck her, and she reached up, pulling the band from her hair. Her atrociously unmanaged hair spilled over her shoulders and she took the band and slipped it over his wrist a tangible reminder that he wasn't losing his mind. 

“I’m here. You’re not alone, Lucius.” She promised. “You didn’t abandon me when I needed you. And I won’t abandon you.”

She didn’t know what made her do it. But she kissed the back of his hand and pressed another to his forehead. She placed the oxygen mask over his face gently, just to be safe. Momentarily breaking her promise, she rose from her wheelchair to turn off the light, only a dimmer, gentler, floor lamp in the corner providing illumination, and sat in silence with him until Mae returned to bring her back to her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was tired when I edited this but I wanted to get it posted. So I'll apologize in advance for any mistakes.


	10. The Man Behind the Death Eater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Lucius have quite a bit to talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I’m so disappointed in myself for how long it took to update and it’s a shorter chapter than usual. I know in the beginning I said every 1 or 2 weeks but I was pretty consistent with once a week until this one. But I think once you read this chapter, you’ll understand why it took a while. There were a few heavy things our beloved characters are starting to work through, and it was tough to get just right and I’m still not sure I’ve got it. All your lovely comments helped shake me out of it though! So, without further consternation and worry, I present chapter ten to you. Enjoy!  
> Fancast Dr. Tindale - Matthew Joseph Cohen

_“Here's to the strong. Thanks to the brave.  
Don't give up hope.  
Some people change.  
Against all odds. Against the grain.  
Love finds a way. Some people change.” _  
**“Some People Change” by Montgomery Gentry**

Hermione woke up the next morning later than usual but feeling better than she had been. She wasn’t bleeding nearly as much as before, and aside from her lingering soreness from the delivery and the train crash that didn’t seem in any hurry to dissipate, she felt stronger, mentally clear and positive. 

Even though she was still concerned over Lucius she was optimistic that he would recover with time. And though she knew she would never _not_ worry about Rose, she was doing just perfect and Hermione didn’t have to wait long in the morning for her daughter to be brought to her along with some encouraging news.

“And I hear that you’re leaving us today!” the nurse, Leisa said warmly.

Hermione looked up in surprise as Rose was nursing happily. “I am?”

“Yes. A transport has been arranged to take you closer to home. The nurse’s station just got the paperwork late last night.”

Hermione frowned. A transport? It had to have been from St. Mungo’s. But why? Hadn’t Harry delivered her message? She had told him how important it was. He would not have blown her off on something like this. No, she was sure Harry would have done as she asked. Perhaps it had been too late to change the plans. But then again, it really shouldn’t have been a challenge should it?

“Well thank you so much for everything.” Hermione said aloud. “It’s been an interesting three days.”  
Wow. Had it _really_ only been three days?

“What time am I being moved?” she continued.

Leisa looked at the clipboard in her hand. “Well you never know with these things, but we’ve been told to expect them around one. Someone will come up to get you and take you down to the transport.”

Hermione bit the inside of her lip anxiously. That gave her only a few hours. “Is there anything I have to do?”

“Nope.” Lesia said, holding her clipboard to her, arms folded. “It’s just bureaucratic pencil pushing from here. We’re getting the doctors reports together for the new hospital and then you’ll be set.”

“In that case.” Hermione said. “I’d like to say goodbye to Lucius, if it's alright. Do you think I could bring Rose with me? Is that allowed? I… I thought it might help.”

“Sure you can.” Leisa grinned. “You’re probably right. I’ll come get you when your hungry little munchkin is finished with her breakfast.”

Hermione thanked her a bit distractedly, her mind shooting off in a hundred different directions at once. Did Harry and Ron know she was coming today? How long would St. Mungoes want her? Would they trust muggle medicine, or would she need to go all through these tests again? _Why_ in Godric’s knickers wasn’t the hospital more worried about the obviously more pressing case? Would they be coming for him shortly? She’d have to find out. Would he be ok until then? Was the apartment ready for Rose yet? Oh, had someone even told the ministry her maternity leave would have to start earlier or had they been thinking she was just skipped work this whole time? And what-

 _Ok. Stop_. She shook her head.

Hermione took a deep breath. 

Taking the time waiting for Leisa to return, Hermione picked up the phone, hoping Harry hadn’t left for the ministry yet and might get the call coming through. It rang for several moments and then to her relief, he picked up. 

After the normal pleasantries and putting the more minor concerns to rest, Hermione asked him the burning question.

“Harry, did you give the letter to St. Mungo’s?”

“Of course.” Harry assured her. “Hand delivered and watched them open it. Said they’d take care of it.”

Hermione relaxed a little. Alright. Perhaps it _was_ just a timing issue then. No matter she could make sure it was straightened out when she could speak to someone directly…

She tried to put it out of her mind, at least for a little while when she was, for the third time, taken to see her unlikely hospital companion. Rose was bundled on her lap as Leisa maneuvered her carefully through the hospital. She was left temporarily in the hallway in the company of a nurse entering data into a computer, however, when she was told the surgeon was in the room with Lucius.

Hermione waited impatiently, Rose yawning contentedly in her arms until finally after a few minutes that had seemed to drag on the door opened and closed, a tall dark haired young man with an angular face and sharp eyes exiting the room. Hermione waited patiently, or tried to, as the doctor muttered to the nurse quietly, who began tapping at her keyboard again. The doctor was just about to turn away when Hermione spoke up.

“Excuse me, doctor.”

The man turned around; eyebrows raised expectantly. He had a rigid posture, but his face was open and expectant. 

“I’m sorry, but I was brought in with the man you were just seeing and…” she hesitated, knowing it was likely a lost cause. Still... “Well, is there anything at all you can tell me about his condition? I know there’s things you can’t share but if there’s anything –“

“No, no. You’re Hermione?” the doctor shook his head, surprising her.

“Yes.” She answered in confusion.

“He gave us his permission to give you information.”

She blinked, completely taken off guard and caught herself staring up at the man rather stupidly. “He… um… he did? Um. Well in that case…” Having actual permission and not having to cajole it from sympathetic staff was a new feeling and she struggled with what to ask. But as she sifted through the innumerable possible questions, they all circled back to the one singular thing she really wanted to know above all else.

“He’ll recover… won’t he?” 

The doctor’s face split into a sudden and empathetic smile. “He’s very fortunate in the placement of the injury, and his prognosis is very good. I’m afraid that’s all the certainty I can give you. I can say I’m very optimistic but there are complications possible as with any trauma. But if everything continues along this trajectory, you have every reason to expect him to recover.”

“I understand.” Hermione acknowledged. He wasn’t a Seer after all. “I suppose what I’m asking is how likely is he to continue improving? Are there any causes for concern?”

“Well, if you want to talk numbers, we usually see a twenty percent mortality rate in these cases, and the surgery wasn’t easy on him.” The surgeon admitted. “To be frank with you…we lost him, and I wasn’t sure we were going to get him back at the time. And the inability to give blood didn’t help matters.”

This new piece of information struck Hermione surprisingly hard. Mae had told her they had “almost” lost him, but she hadn’t fully understood the severity until the surgeon confessed his previously bleak outlook. A chilling cold settled over her that in another circumstance would have had her peering over her shoulder for a dementor. The violence of her reaction surprised her, and her heart thumped agitatedly.

“ _But_ he made it through,” the doctor reminded her. “and he is improving daily in remarkable strides. He’s breathing on his own, very alert this morning and able to speak, and we’ll be moving him out of ICU and then we can begin talking long term recovery plans.”

“Can I see him now?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes of course. Let someone know if you have any questions and they can leave a message for me. I’m Dr. Tindale.”

Hermione took a deep breath as the doctor walked away to continue his rounds and the nurse finished her typing and wheeled her into the room. Twenty percent was still too high for her comfort and it made her all the more anxious that he was still in this place instead of on his way to St. Mungo’s. 

As the kindly nurse pushing her wheelchair wheeled her through the door, Hermione’s heart leapt when she saw Lucius again. He looked up in surprise, his eyes widening slightly as he met her stare, the nurse settling her beside the bed once more and leaving them in peace.

“Hermione.” He said, the inflection sounding genuinely taken off guard by her presence.

“I brought someone to see you.” she said, nodding down to her lap where Rose was blinking about the new space. “I hope it’s ok.”

“Of course.” He breathed distractedly; his attention captured wholly by the child as she turned towards the sound of his voice. 

Hermione watched him covertly, pleased overall at what she was seeing. He looked tired but stronger today. No oxygen mask, though it was well within reach and he was sitting very still but upright. His hair tied back out of his face, his posture seemingly back in his control, Hermione relaxed considerably at the marked improvement.

She blushed when she met his eyes and realized he’d caught her examining him. But he was seemingly studying her as well… Hermione searched for something to say.

“I saw the surgeon… he told me you gave them permission to talk to me.”

A flash of uncertainty sparked in his eyes. “Yes. Well. Even with our… limited… acquaintance. You are, strange as it is to contemplate, my only ally at the moment. And gracious enough to be concerned. I thought it would simplify things.”

“It does.” She said biting back a smile. 

His gaze found Rose again as she gurgled and balled her fists, snuggling her face into Hermione’s sleeve as she looked around, and Hermione couldn’t help the smile as she watched Lucius watch her. His eyes had softened with a look she had never seen on this man’s face, nor imagined it was possible for his expression to form. But then again, she was seeing a lot of things from Lucius Malfoy she hadn’t thought possible…

“Would you like to hold her?” she said without thinking.

His lips parted in surprise, startled, eyes widening slightly as he looked up at Hermione. He looked conflicted, as if he would have liked to, but wasn’t sure if he should or would actually be welcomed to…

“It’s alright.” She assured him. “I can help.”

How odd to be laying her precious, defenseless, baby girl in the arms of this man… and to not think twice about it. 

He hesitated but didn’t refuse. Hermione shifted forward and set Rose on his lap, nestled in the crook of his right arm, far from his injuries. She settled in contentedly, nuzzling against his chest as she tried to see where she’d been moved to, her nose twitching at the brush of fabric. Hermione braced her hands gently, one on Lucius’ forearm and the other on Rose, steadying them both and folded the corner of the bed coverings under his arm to use it to help support the baby’s weight.

“There, my sweet one.” Hermione soothed her quietly. “See, I told you he’d be well. Do you remember him?”

Lucius smiled tiredly as she cooed, looking around her new surroundings. “She… she looks like nothing happened.”

He was looking at her with a strange expression. Somewhere between awestruck surprise and warm adoration. As if he too had not really been sure all of this was really happening. But Rose was the tangible proof in his arms as he held her, and she watched him process it with an odd feeling in her belly.

“She’s… so light.” He said after a moment of staring.

“Yes.” Hermione acknowledged. “Being a month early, she’s on the small side.”

“But she is alright? They’re sure?” 

Lucius looked up and asked the question with such endearing intensity and Hermione noticed his hold on her tighten reflexively.

“Yes.” Hermione smiled softly. “I imagine the potion you used on her helped her development along, but of course I can’t tell them that. So, they think she’s just a marvel.”

Rose took just that moment to sneeze and look up at them, eyes widened in surprise at the reflex, earning a smile from Lucius and a delighted giggle from Hermione. 

“I never thought it possible.” Hermione confessed, leaning forward to rub gentle lazy circles on her soft peach fuzz covered head. “To worry so intensely over something, so quickly. The curse of being a parent I suppose.”

“Mm.” Lucius muttered in agreement with a slight frown. “I never feared anything in my life, until Draco was born. Then absolutely everything was a source of danger.”

She hesitated to ask what sprang to her mind, but with an uncertain bite to her lip, she decided to jump in. “Can we talk about Draco?”

Lucius took as deep a breath as his condition would allow. His voice was quiet as he spoke in cautious measured sentences, careful not to overtax himself or lose his breath. “I suppose you are referring to why I did not wish to have him contacted when you asked.”

“Well… Yes.” She answered

“Simply because I know he will not come,” Lucius answered blandly. “and I would just as soon skip the pain of reaching out and being refused.” 

“I could _try_ to talk to him and just not tell you about it so you wouldn’t know.” Hermione ventured; her tone laced with a bit of sadness.

He smirked. “Somehow I don’t think that would work as you plan. I get the feeling you are a terrible liar.”

“What, why?” she asked, sitting back in mild indignation. 

“Because everything you are thinking comes out of your expressions.”

Hermione intentionally schooled her features into a placid mask of indifference. “No, it doesn’t.”

“It does.” He insisted. “Which is why I know you’ve been worrying over something since you came in.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but decided it was probably pointless as she looked up from staring at Rose to see his analytical expression turn suspicious and his eyes narrowed as he looked back at her. She sighed, leaning back and confessed. “The extraction team from St. Mungo’s is coming for Rose and me. We’re going to be released today.”

He stared at her blankly “I don’t see the problem.”

She breathed deeply in agitation. “They’re coming for ME. I don’t want them to. I told them to get _you_! And I was very clear with the urgency of your condition. There must have been some mistake, or a problem with timing or--”

“It’s no mistake, Hermione.” Lucius said flatly. “I tried to tell you. Your pleas on my behalf will be ignored.”

She didn’t like his tone. “My letter to them wasn’t overlooked then, was it?” she surmised.  
He smirked tiredly. “If I were bleeding out in their lobby, a patient with a toothache would be a higher priority. So, I am at the mercy of these scalpel happy barbarians.” 

His eyes flashed with a brief sparkle of mischief as if his barbarians’ comment was intentional to get a rise out of her. She might have even laughed, recalling Ron speaking of doctors once, describing them as “nutters who cut people up” but she wasn’t going to let him distract her. A surprisingly hot and immediate jolt of anger lanced through her at his words.

“That’s illegal.” Hermione said irritably. “They can’t refuse you treatment!”

“I’m a death eater. The laws are… suggestions when it comes to me.” He told her. “They don’t care, and I am not about to beg.” He said firmly. “I’m alone in the world, Hermione.”

“No, you’re not.” She said firmly. “ _I’ll_ help you. Stubborn pride notwithstanding.”  
“That would be even more humiliating.” He insisted.

Hermione huffed impatiently. “No, don’t be like that.” She chastised him. “You’re only in this mess because of me. They can ignore a letter but surely not with me standing there in person. One way or the other you’re getting out of here.”

Rose began to fuss at the increased tension in the air and Lucius raised his left hand with some difficulty, reaching out to stroke her cheek comfortingly. “There, there. Your mother has a temper. I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to it.”

Hermione smiled begrudgingly as Rose settled quickly. He touched her tiny hand and she grasped index finger reflexively, holding it tight. But as he did this, Hermione noticed with sudden recollection that the hairband she’d slipped onto his wrist the night before was still there. 

Lucius caught her line of sight and glanced down. “I take it I was… disoriented the last time you came?”

She smiled shyly, strangely pleased that he'd noticed it and caught its meaning. “A bit. Just towards the end. It was late and you were exhausted.”

He took a breath. “I seem to have taken complete leave of my faculties in this place.” He looked over at her again. “Hermione?”

She met his eyes in surprise at the quiet almost husky tone of voice he said her name with.

“Thank you.” he said.

Hermione shifted in her chair, a blush rising to her cheeks, at the intensity in his eyes as he stared at her. “I… haven’t done anything but sit here.”

“No. You recognized how confused I would be when I awoke. And you cared enough to try to mitigate it.” He paused, taking a slow breath. “You’ve come to ask after my wellbeing every day… you are well intentioned to come to my aid and see me released… that is no small matter to a man such as myself.”

“Well…” she replied. “I didn’t think you getting arrested for leaving the hospital a smoldering crater was the best way to get you out.”

He smirked. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

Rose began to kick and flail, her foot lashing out suddenly, gurgling and though he said nothing, Hermione saw Lucius close his eyes in sudden pain. Hermione grimaced silently and leaned forward, lifting her off his lap before she could injure her rescuer. “Come now baby girl, let’s not cause _more_ trouble.”

“I’m alright.” He responded, but his hand rested against his chest as he leaned his head back with a steadying breath. 

“I’m sorry. That was too much.” She apologized, resituating Rose in her hold. “I should have thought-“

“No. I’m glad you did. Holding her was… a reminder all this was not for nothing.”

Hermione looked affectionately down at Rose, that familiar warm affection flooding her belly and glanced back up at Lucius. “You seem much stronger today. And the surgeon spoke to you. Did he tell you everything was alright?”

“The word he used was encouraging.” Lucius answered. “Mostly he inspected his handiwork and tried to explain what had happened to me and my prognosis. I didn’t understand most of it. Tell me, what is this blood transfusion that I apparently caused some trouble over?”

“Oh.” Hermione began quietly. “Well, basically it’s what muggles do for a replenishing potion or spell. They take a needle and remove blood from someone else and collect it. People donate blood to hospitals and clinics and such to help people who have lost too much. Then when someone needs it, like we did, they take one of the containers, hook another needle to it and they put it in your veins to make up for what you lost, and… Lucius?”

As she explained she saw his face whiten and freeze in shock.

“I…” he blinked in confusion. “I have… muggle blood in my body?”

 _Oh. Stupid, Hermione!_ She scolded herself. She had not thought about that aspect before just blurting it out, and Lucius was obviously jolted by the disturbance. 

“Yes. I’m sorry, that must be a surprise to hear.” She said, biting back a swell of irritation that even after all this and his evidently altered habits, he might still find muggles so far beneath him. _Baby steps, Hermione._

“A stranger’s blood literally coursing through my body sounds like dark forbidden magic.” Lucius said, leaning his head back. “A _muggle_ stranger’s blood? I… I don’t know what I’m thinking. It’s not even the strangest thing that’s happened to me in the past three days--”

Lucius cut off suddenly. He had breathed too quickly, been too surprised evidently. He dissolved into a fit of violent coughing that had Hermione frozen in fear, wondering if she should call a nurse, and Rose flailing agitatedly. But he was sensible at least, and lifted the facemask taking several slow breaths, his eyes shut tight against the pain as the coughing subsided. 

Any spark of irritation she may have felt fled at that… Of course, the revelation would stun him. No matter what strides he’d made or when, a man who spent his entire life preoccupied by blood status and purity waking up to be told he’d been injected with muggle blood without his knowledge, and already off center in a strange place? She hoped she’d grown and matured enough in recent years to understand it would be an adjustment. 

“What no admonition?” he asked, watching her think silently as he regained his composure. “I’m such a bigot, I reject muggle blood even when I’m unconscious? Or some other such comment?”  
Hermione laughed and Lucius’ rigid posture relaxed a bit. “It’s not a conscious decision, or your fault at all. Even some muggles can’t take blood from other muggles. There’s a lot of intricacies involved, and a lot of reasons it might fail. But I suppose you have some… thoughts… about it.”  
He stared up at the ceiling a look of muted distress on his face, as if he were trying to mask his anxiety and irritation but falling just short of the mark. 

“It’s an odd feeling, being kept alive by the same people you would once have happily seen subjugated.” He admitted, still staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah. You’re going to have a lot to unpack there, I think.” She grimaced. “But try not to do any deep thinking right now. Just focus on getting better. Or at least staying alive until I can get help.”

He gave a short, quiet breath of laughter. “You won’t be daunted, will you?” Then the slight smile faded when she shook her head determinedly. “How dire is my situation, Hermione?"

“Well you made it through the worst part.” She said with a forced cheer, “Now it’s just a matter of not reopening the wounds, making sure your lung heals, and making sure you don’t develop an infection or other problems. Rest and being still will avoid the first and the other two can be healed and managed easily with potions. So just don’t do anything crazy and we’ll get you out of here and this will be just a bad memory. Because honestly, I’m more worried about an involuntary magic mishap than a medical one at this point.”

There was something odd in his expression when he looked back at her and then to Rose. As if he wanted to say something to her but words failed. But before she could decipher it or ask him, his face shuttered completely, like putting on a mask and he turned away. 

“I think I must apologize for the… familiarity of my behavior yesterday, and again, today.” Lucius said cryptically. “I… am not usually anywhere near this talkative, or personal, whatever they have in this needle to mask the pain seems to have loosened my tongue and thoughts.”

Hermione smiled but couldn’t stop the feeling of disappointment. She wished he hadn’t apologized. Apologizing implied there was something wrong or improper. That he should be behaving or treating her differently under usual circumstances. That there was a way opposed to this that he should have been acting and his insistence on it was a douse of cold water, breaking this strange surreal spell she found them under. Right now, he had neither the energy nor the clarity for affectation or pretense. And she found that she liked it. She actually _liked_ talking to him this way.

She couldn’t explain it. Maybe seeing a softer side of him made it easier to be grateful to him despite his past. Maybe it gave her hope that the second chance the ministry had seen fit to give him by commuting his sentence wasn’t misplaced, and that he was indeed capable of being so much more than Voldemort’s servant… 

She smiled a bit easier at that thought. He could hide it behind stiff civility and aristocratic bearing if he wanted to. But she’d had a tantalizing glimpse of a man behind the death eater, and she confessed herself interested in what she saw. But she was also intuitive enough not to push it…

So, she simply nodded. “I won’t hold it against you.” she jested and earned a weak smile from the older man. But before she could speak further on it, there was a knock on the door.

Her nurse, Leisa popped her head in. “I’m back. All set?”

“Oh!” Hermione said startled, looking down at Rose and then glancing at the clock. “I’m sorry. Just one minute.”

Leisa nodded with an odd, mischievous, smile that very much appeared like someone who knew something Hermione didn’t. She looked between Hermione and Lucius before ducking back out of the room, door ajar. 

Hermione turned back to Lucius, and unexpected sadness weighing her down. “I… I came in the first place to say goodbye. We’ll be leaving in just a few hours.”

He nodded his understanding and Hermione was suddenly at a loss. She clutched Rose a bit tighter. “I don’t know what to say to you.” she told him.

Lucius watched her equally as uncertain. “There’s nothing. Nothing you haven’t already said.”  
“It seems wrong to leave you here.”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. You’ve done what you could for me, and it was appreciated. You may leave with a clear conscience.”

There was nothing clear about her conscience. It still felt wrong and she had an uneasy feeling. “I _will_ get you out of here. I promise.” She vowed.

Lucius forced a smile, but it seemed to be one of indulgence rather than acknowledgement. He held his hand out to her. “Be well, Hermione.”

It seemed so strange to simply be shaking his hand after everything. But she held out the hand not bearing most of Rose’s weight and did so. She stiffened at the suddenness of the touch, his palm warm against hers and she felt a fluttering tightness in her belly. _You’re nervous._ She told herself. _That’s all. He saved Rose and now you’re afraid you might be leaving him in a dangerous spot. You’ll feel better when you fix it._

Lucius released her hand and dropped it gently to rest briefly on Rose’s head in a gentle farewell.

“Goodbye, Lucius.” Hermione said quietly. This time, when the nurse came to take her from the room, she resisted the urge to look back, unsure what she would feel if she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius finally got to see Rose, in much calmer circumstances. Yay them.


	11. Another Thing Entirely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is back in London and tries to send help for Lucius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya’ll. I’m just going to be honest. I dragged my ever-loving tail on this chapter because I just did NOT want to write Ron. But alas… he is necessary to the plot moving forward, so with deep sighs I offer this chapter. I hope near-future Lumione will make up for its lack of presence in this chapter. **Waves forlornly**
> 
> Fancast Madam Pershing – Corrine Koslo. Healer Miller – Olga Kurylenko

_“In a place that needs change, make a difference.  
In a time full of noise, just listen.  
'Cause life is but a breeze, better live it.  
In a place that needs a change, make a difference.”_   
**“Be A Light” featuring Keith Urban and other artists**

**May 22, 2000. Later that same day.**

Hermione sat in the new and likely temporary quiet solitude of her hospital bed in St. Mungoes later that day, taking several breaths as she leaned back against the plump pillows. As she’d already given birth, she was in a general recovery room, a curtain drawn around her bed and it didn’t appear to be a very busy day in this wing. 

She was grateful for the respite of silence. 

Though she was eternally thankful for the muggle doctor and nurses that had looked after her, it was an altogether different environment to be back on “magical soil” as it were, and after so many years, admittedly more familiar. She thought back, not for the first time, saddened and worried over Lucius and how difficult it must be, in unfamiliar surroundings and wandless, as she had been similarly limited. She hoped he was heeding her warnings and staying calm and collected.

Since leaving him there, it had felt like a whirlwind of activity. The transport experience had been simple but new. Harry and Ron’s summary of being an enchanted muggle ambulance, like a Knight Bus without being hurled around was more or less accurate. Healers dressed as muggle medical professionals, trained for just these sorts of instances, had come to her room with a stretcher, convincing enough paperwork and took her and Rose down to the lobby where the vehicle waited in the drop off lane. 

Hermione had once again brought up her unexpected companion as they travelled down the lifts and was told that they’d received no other transport orders and that this sort of thing, though not rare, was not a common occurrence. She was advised to bring it up at the hospital, and Hermione resigned herself that there would be no resolution in the immediate moment. 

The ride to London was surprisingly quick and smooth. The spacious interior of the enchanted ambulance magically warded against the unpleasant bumps and turns of the road. Ronald had apparated there to ride back with her and was waiting beside the ambulance when she was brought out. It was a sweet gesture. But as they travelled along, Ron sitting between her and Rose’s beds, chatting and smiling, a wave of guilt washed over her thick and prickly, as she realized she hadn’t thought much of Ron over the last few days.

Strange wasn’t it, since she lived with him and she’d just had his baby?

Truth be told, even though she was saddened he had missed Rose’s arrival and that said arrival had been so traumatic… she’d been grateful for the few days away from him. It gave her a fresh eye and ear, made her feel a bit more grounded and prepared. She had watched him talk as they zoomed along, not really hearing him – something about Ginny and Harry arguing over the nursery theme for Potter baby number two? She didn’t know, her thoughts were wandering all over the place. She supposed much of her distraction and the feeling of disconnect was partly from the chaos and horror of the last few days as well as the general uncertainty and tension she and Ron had been battling as of late. 

But none of that existed right now, so Hermione attempted to put it from her mind and relax. She couldn’t even really remember what she and he had been arguing about before she left for Glasgow and for now, she wanted to keep it that way. As deep and as many as their disagreements were, she loved Ron and she didn’t enjoy fighting with him. She longed for peace at home and besides that, she had her physical health to worry about and they had a newborn baby to enjoy. 

As soon as they brought her back that is.

Hermione huffed and looked around the small space again. It was simple but cozy. The bed comfortable and warm. No high-pitched beeping, or unpleasant lighting. Just an armchair, a table and a bedside stand with drinking water and a large lamp bathing the space in warm and comforting light. The coloring was drab but made more vibrant by a large and ridiculous array for flowers, balloons, and packaged food from her friends. She was going to make _Ron_ open the bag from George, she decided with a silent snicker. It was probably something that exploded glitter, or worse…

They had all been waiting. All of them. The entire Weasley clan, Harry and Ginny with baby James. Fleur and Bill with Victoire and even Luna and Neville. It was an altogether different kind of happy, tearful, relieved sort of chaos but distressing to the healers and staff nonetheless and so her visitors were eventually cleared out. They went hesitantly with the promise to come back, quieter and in smaller numbers. 

Rose had been taken to the nursery so the children’s healer could look her over and give her own prognosis, and Ron had gone to ask questions. It gave her a moment to collect her thoughts and she had the time as she awaited the assistant director she was told was in charge of “public relations” which included among other things ensuring witches and wizards who found themselves in muggle ‘custody’ were removed. 

Hermione tapped her fingers against her thigh in a random discordant tempo as she waited. She _really_ didn’t want to be in a hospital bed anymore. But given the repeated challenges and traumas, St. Mungoes was insistent on doing a full examination and keeping an eye on her. She had been assaulted with questions from the second she’d arrived at St. Mungoes and apparently there was a “soft” bigotry still very much alive in healing, few of the people she talked to thinking much of muggle medicine. She’d wanted to be found in perfect health, but it wasn’t to be the case.

Her discharge papers from the muggle hospitals had been far reaching enough. No physical activity for two weeks, no trying to read or work, no screens, no loud music, and to follow up with her doctor. And _that_ was just for the concussion. From Rose’s birth, she was expected to avoid so many things for 8 whole weeks, which to someone as used to activity and doing what she wanted as Hermione felt like an eternity. The magical healers had promised to significantly shorten that time to a mere few days – if she listened. And she was trying, really. The muggle medications, and now the magical potions were managing her pain, aches, and discomfort rather well.   
She had been poked and prodded and scanned and spelled every which way. When the matronly dark-haired healer, Miss Miller had finally finished, she clucked her tongue and began rooting around on the cart she’d brought with her selecting potions, her lime green robes swishing about her as she moved.

“I want you here two days.” She had said distractedly. “Resting, no physical activity or casting magic.”

“Two days?!” Hermione repeated. Magic wouldn’t be hard to resist without her wand anyway but one more day of “rest” was going to drive her mad. “But I was already at the muggle hospital for three!”

“Muggles can heal things well enough but not to _our_ extent.” She sniffed. “Now, the muggles treated your blood loss and told you to rest for your head injury and the birth. I want both problems to be nonexistent. That requires rest. Now, my spells are showing small fractures, bruising and abnormally weakened muscles and ligaments, particularly in your pelvic area. And small tears in your uterine wall. We don’t want any complications with future pregnancies, now do we?”

Hermione’s lips parted. She hadn’t thought of that. “No.”

“No.” Healer Miller repeated with a nod. 

Suddenly freshly concerned Hermione had launched into fact-finding mode. “How serious are the tears?”

“Not very.” She answered, scanning her enchanted parchments her spells had recorded on. They may have been… Most likely trauma from the accident worsened by early labor and delivery. But…” her tone turned questioning. “It appears the bleeding was stopped, and the injuries healed magically?”

A soft smile curved her lips. Lucius. “Yes, someone helped me.” She answered out loud. “They had a potion, it… it’s a long story.”

“Well. We want to heal them a little more deeply.” The healer continued, beginning to hand her vials one after the other. “This will mitigate any brain damage from the concussion and speed along your symptoms going away. A slow acting potion but a strong one that will help layer by layer. I want you to have a dose of Skelegrow for the fractures, and two doses of this, one now and one before discharge.”

“What is it?” Hermione asked, choking down the bitter Skelegrow and turning the last vial of shimmering potion in her hand curiously. 

“A special mixture of diluted dittany embellished with a few other things to be taken internally rather than applied topically. This you drink and it will heal and mend the tears and make you feel a lot better too. Less soreness.”

That had been over an hour ago and even though it worked, she had almost wanted to refuse it, not being permitted to nurse Rose while taking them. But she’d been assured that it was a temporary restriction for while she was taking the potions only. 

Before too long, a stout and harsh stared older woman came in, her grey robes simple but crisp. Her hair matched the severity of her expression, salt and pepper and wiry, pulled tight into a bun on top of her head. Her voice was a touch on the raspy side, but she was polite enough when she called out a greeting and bid enter, stepped around the curtain to enter Hermione’s little space.

“Ms. Granger. I’m Madam Pershing, an assistant director here at the hospital. I was told you had a matter of some urgency to report?”

“Yes.” Hermione breathed, much of the tension leaving her. “An injured, stranded wizard.”  
Madam Pershing gave a curt nod and gestured to the chair at the small table. “May I sit?”

“Of course.” Hermione answered.

With a flick of her wand, the witch pulled the chair closer and sat down as a clipboard and parchment appeared and she took it in her hand, a quill and ink appearing floating beside her. 

“I’ve um… I’ve never had to do this before.” Hermione said, wringing her hands together slowly, worrying the fabric of her bed coverings. “I sent a letter at first opportunity, but nothing came of it.”

“It could have fallen through the cracks.” Pershing smiled slightly. “Not to worry, we’ll get it sorted. Now, I just need the witch or wizards name, malady, condition and location.”

“Oh, well. He was actually in the same hospital I was in, in intensive care last I saw him.” Hermione explained. “He was shot in the back. With a gun? The bullet went through his chest, he had to have surgery. It… it didn’t go well I’m told but he survived. He’s stable at the moment but not mobile, and he has no wand.”

“Hm.” Madam Pershing tutted, brow furrowed, scribbling on her clipboard. “And the wizard’s name?”

Hermione bit her lip, heart suddenly racing. “Lucius Malfoy.”

She gaped in dismay at the witch as she laid her quill aside and capped the inkwell. “Good day, Ms. Granger. I wish you well in your recovery.”

The nervous racing of her heart turned to a full-fledged furious pounding. Being refused care as Lucius claimed he was… well, it was unbelievable enough, but it was one thing. A matter of policy coming from a person of authority, power and influence was quite another thing entirely. 

“Wait!” Hermione said quickly as Madam Pershing stood and replaced the chair she’d been occupying. “You don’t understand!”

“Oh, I think I understand perfectly well.” She said, folding her arms in front of her holding the clipboard to her.

Hermione bristled at the dismissive clinical tone. “You have a responsibility to treat citizens-“ she said through grit teeth.

“Ms. Granger, I’ll be blunt. Lucius Malfoy and those like him… they hardly count as _citizens_.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she could feel her breastbone rattling with every pounding beat of her heart and her tongue went dry with the seething breaths she was dragging through her nose in an effort to stay calm. 

“He was injured lending me assistance.” Hermione forced out, her temples throbbing as her blood pressure raised exponentially. “ _Helping_ me. Helping my daughter. Surely that should count for _something_?”

Hermione could see a few gears turning in the older woman’s expression as she evidently put the pieces together and hoped momentarily that she would see reason. 

“I am sure your circumstances were… difficult.” Pershing replied. “Nevertheless---”

“Difficult?” Hermione repeated, raising an eyebrow, her breathing becoming constricted. Her limbs felt suddenly hot and she hadn’t known that one’s blood could literally boil but that seemed to be what was happening. _Difficult_?!

“Nevertheless, _nothing_!” Hermione continued, her voice rising with every word exchanged. “Was there a law passed that I wasn’t aware of? As a ministry employee who works in advocacy, I’m fairly certain there is no legal right for you to refuse a man treatment regardless of who that man might be!”

The older woman was looking at Hermione with a mild alarm that seemed displaced for the comment.

“Perhaps not.” The witch acknowledged. “But he is, by your own admission, receiving treatment at the muggle facility and-“

“ _And_.” Hermione bit. “You and I both know there is a reason it is policy not to leave witches and wizards to convalesce in unaffiliated muggle facilities. Not the least of which is Article 20, subsection 14c of the Statute of Secrecy and –“

Hermione’s breast was heaving at the point Madam Pershing cut her off with a sharp raise of her hand. 

“Ms. Granger.” She said curtly. “Our resources and time are stretched very thin. We have more permanent residents than ever before, due to unprecedented torture victims of recent years past, curse injuries requiring long term treatments and frequent visits. And as the United Kingdom has lost a good deal of the trust and respect of our foreign neighbors, most of our supply lines for less common ingredients in our remedies are compromised as treaties and agreements are threatened and terminated. As well as being short staffed from half of our employees being _murdered_. Training healers takes time, expense, and personnel, and _all_ of this is facilitated _directly_ by people like the man you seek to rescue.”

Hermione’s voice was deathly quiet. “Lucius was barely a human the last two years of the war, he was as much a prisoner as anyone else, his family was –“

“Maybe. But it all started somewhere didn’t it?” Pershing smiled humorlessly. “Most would say this is nothing less than what he deserves--“

Madam Pershing let out a shriek and sprang backwards toppling over the small table. As the witch and the furniture clamored to the floor the glass water pitcher and tumbler beside Hermione shattered, glass flying outward, the vases of flower behind the table shattering with it. The lamp broke as well, fire from the lantern licking suddenly and ferociously up the privacy curtain with a great _woosh_ as if driven there by force. But Hermione didn’t notice. Hand at her forehead, she screamed, suddenly overcome with ear splitting, blinding pain lancing through her head as if someone were taking a hot serrated knife to her nerves. 

There was a flurry of sudden noise and activity. Voices shouting. Spells being cast, a sound of hissing and a plume of smoke as someone put the fire out. She was vaguely aware of someone putting a vial of something between her teeth and forcing her head back, unpleasant liquid pooling in her throat gagging her as she struggled to swallow. The pain began to fade leaving her dizzy and disoriented and when she came to her senses she was flat on her back again, blinking up slowly into the worried faces of Ron and her healer, Miss Miller as they stood on opposite sides of her, staring down. 

She looked around. The curtains were singed and shorter but no longer flaming, and the director Madam Pershing was gone.

“Ron? What—” she began confused. “How long was I out?”

“Just a few minutes.” Ron answered, taking her hand. “I was on my way back from the nursery and heard the screaming and the noise. We all came running.”

“You had an accidental outburst of magic.” Healer Miller said disapprovingly. 

If she weren’t so tired, she might have been annoyed at her expression and tone. It wasn’t as if she’d meant to! But she closed her eyes and said nothing. She felt like someone had sucked all of the fight from her muscles.

“The headache was a warning.” the healer explained. “I said no magic. Remember? Brain injuries must be carefully nurtured. I’ll leave you to rest.” Then with a pointed look at Ron. “See she remains still, quiet and _calm_.”

As the healer left, Hermione shifted carefully. “Can you help me sit up a little? Laying flat is hurting my back.”

“Sure.” Ron murmured. Helping her adjust, he rearranged the pillows behind her, and she leaned back slightly reclined. 

“Thanks. How is Rose?” she asked.

“She’s fine.” Ron said flatly, sitting on the edge of her bed and staring at her intently. “I want to talk about you.”

Hermione tried to scowl but it just came out as a tired wince. She’d already been separated from her a few hours, _she_ wanted to talk about her baby!

“What happened to make you go off like that?”

Hermione huffed and shook her head, then grimaced at the sharp, unforgiving “no” her nerves sent to her brain at the movement. 

“The wizard I was trying to get help for. She was less than helpful.”

“Ok.” Ron scoffed. “That’s all? _Why_ has this got you so worked up?”

Hermione took a deep breath. Maybe it was time to come clean. “Ok. Ron. Look.” She said. “There _is_ a reason I’m so concerned about this… this particular wizard. I mean… even besides the fact he has no wand and the hospital is refusing to go get him, and I object on principle, the truth is he’s—”

Ron snorted. “Well that tells you all you need to know doesn’t?”

Hermione fell silent with a frown. “What do you mean ‘it tells me all I need to know’?”

“Well, if you gave them the information and they still won’t intervene then it must mean he’s not worth it.”

“Must it?” Hermione asked coldly at his apathetic hypothesis.

Ron threw his hands up as if it should be obvious, oblivious to her frigid turn of mood. “Well, yeah. Face it. They must know something you don’t. No wand, no intervention, he’s probably a dark wizard or something.”

“And?” Hermione pressed. “What if he was? A dark wizard.”

“Well then he’d deserve it wouldn’t he?”

“ _Deserve_ it?” she snapped, ire rising once again. “You don’t know what put him there!”

“Doesn’t matter, does it?” he shrugged, looking at her like she’d sprung bat wings. “It’s bad enough the ministry let so many off the hook, isn’t it?”

“It’s not that simple, Ron. What if he’s changed?” she countered. “You don’t know what he’s done! As a matter of fact he –“

“Look. Hermione.” Ron scooted forward on the bed and took her hand placatingly. “I know you see the strays and the unfortunates, and the lost causes and you want to fix them all. But maybe you should let this one go.”

Hermione stammered silently as Ron stood up. 

“Now you get some rest.” Ron said. “I’ll see about bringing Rose down. That’ll calm you down, I think. Right?”

Hermione pressed her lips together tightly and gave the slightest of nods. And with a clueless smile, Ron nodded back and left the room, leaving Hermione seething silently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. Hermione is a bit peeved. But, our girl isn’t one to stay down and out. I’m sure she’ll think of something.


	12. A Hail Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione hasn’t given up on help for the stranded wizard, but learns some distressing things about his current state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning first – mental health issues discussed, and the topic of psychiatric commitment comes up. Didn’t want that to creep up on anyone and smack them in the face. Also, I just want to thank you, again, for all your lovely comments. I really can’t say it enough. They are all read and all adored and coveted so very much. You guys are the best. <3

_“When the demon that's inside you is ready to begin.  
And it feels like it's a battle that you will never win.  
When you're aching for the fire and begging for your sin.  
When there's nothing left inside, there's still a reason to fight.” _  
**“A Reason to Fight” by Disturbed**

**23 May 2000**

Hermione hadn’t wanted to admit how much her little bout of magical temper had tired her but as much as she wanted to keep looking for solutions, she had unwillingly been dragged into sleep. She was rarely one for naps and given the circumstances she’d rather be holding and bonding with Rose or finding help for Lucius. Or both. Hell, she was a capable witch more than able to multitask after all. But her body rebelled against her intentions, and she slept for a while as the potions dulled her headache and worked their magic on the rest of her sore, tired body. 

She awoke to see fresh, non-burned curtains and repaired lamps, and Ron sitting in the armchair, cooing ridiculously but endearingly at Rose who was gurgling and squirming in response. Hermione smirked at the heartwarming scene and was glad to see the baby was here. Being muggleborn she could easily compare and contrast muggle and wizard culture, and though she loved her people, loved being a witch, she could admit much of it seemed stuck in bygone eras. One of which was apparently the belief that babies belonged in the nursery and mothers belonged in bed, a disagreement that irked her considerably and if Ron wasn’t there to bring her to her himself, she had to fight for every precious moment of Rose being next to her – which fouled her already embittered mood even further. 

_After I’m done in Magical Creatures with the reforms, I’m coming for St. Mungoes next_. She thought irritably. 

But she did not let any opportunity, no matter how frustrating, go to waste. And so, when the healers insisted on taking her back to the nursery, and Ron left to update their family, Hermione got to work. 

She was surprised when, as she began fumbling around at the bedside table and in her beaded bag, a small elf appeared. Clean brown skin, large luminous eyes and abnormally long eyelashes. She wore a lime green, pressed, and fitted linen emblazoned with the St. Mungoes seal as well as a small pin with a heart crossed with a wand symbol on it – a new reform – designating that she was a free and paid elf. 

Hermione grinned in surprise as the elf smiled, her ears twitching. “Hello miss. I is being Iggy. What can Iggy be getting for you?”

“Um, hi Iggy.” Hermione smiled. “How did you know I needed something?”

“Iggy’s job to know, miss.” The elf drew herself up proudly. “It is Iggy’s job to make sure patients are comfortable and to do things for patients.”

Hermione had a million and one questions running through her head about the elf. How she came to be here. If she was freed as punishment or if her family was killed, or she was freed and paid by a kind wizarding family. Confiscated for cruelty? Why did she choose to come to St. Mungoes?

_Focus, Hermione. You’ve got work to do._

Thus, she scolded herself with a shake of her head and leaned back. “I was actually just looking for a quill and some parchment, but –“

Before Hermione could even finish speaking, Iggy had snapped her fingers, parchment and an ink well appearing as well as a small wooden lap desk to write on and floated to her.

“Thank you so much!” Hermione smiled. “When I’m finished, would you be able to post some letters?”

The elf nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, miss. Iggy does that all the time!”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and got to work. _Finally! Now we might be getting somewhere!_

She had written to the Auror department. The Accidental Magic department. Advocacy. Every ministry agency she could think of that might have something to say or do with the current problem. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to happen. But she had promised not to abandon Lucius and she didn’t want to break her word after a mere two days.

Iggy had very helpfully posted the letters, assuring her that they would reach their destinations and Hermione tried to settle as she realized most of the day was gone, her head had begun to ache and she was unlikely to get anywhere the rest of the night. Iggy was a surprising comfort. Ron meant well, but nurturing wasn’t exactly a descriptor used for him, and he could be a bit blunted and oblivious when it came to anticipating needs. Iggy however seemed to be a natural, and meandered through her rounds around the wing happily, even humming a little tune as she magically freshened the flowers in her room, refreshed her water pitcher and warmed her blankets. More than once upon finding Hermione frowning forlornly, popped up to the nursery and carried Rose down to sit with her mother. Hermione had found a small box of French chocolates from Fleur and gave them to the sweet little creature who looked like a child at Christmas to receive the small token. 

The morning however, brought Hermione fresh angst as slowly over the day, letters began trickling back. It didn’t take long for Iggy to realize that these were not happy letters judging by Hermione’s slumping shoulders and stormy expression and the elf grew more and more hesitant with each new one she brought. Not equipped for those maneuvers. No resources available. Lack of personnel. Polite refusals to ‘get involved’. A few, “hell no, are you out of your mind”s. Each response more disappointing than the next.

She could not believe that there was not one single department, agency, task force, or response squad that didn’t see the wisdom in not leaving a powerful, injured and at this point likely highly irritable wizard in a room full of muggles. But here she was.

She briefly thought of appealing to Kingsley himself but dismissed the idea. He had enough to deal with at the moment with the pushback on Azkaban reforms he was spearheading, and Hermione didn’t want to add to it. Harry? No. He _would_ likely help her. But it would put him in an unpleasant position seeing as his supervisor was one of the less polite refusals to her pleading. 

By the end of tea Hermione had quite an impressive collection of “sorry, not sorry, but no” letters. She opened the last one with a huff, throwing it on her lap before grabbing the pile and stuffing them in the drawer of the bedside table with an exasperated grumble.

She picked up her parchments again and began mentally running through a list of the ministry floors. There _had_ to be someone she missed. She began writing again, not realizing the passing of time when Ron came in and gaped at her from the partition in the curtains. 

“Are you _working_ right now?! _Seriously_?”

“Only while Rose is sleeping.” She murmured, chewing on the end of her quill thoughtfully. 

“She’s a newborn she’s always sleeping.” Ron countered, coming further into the space. “Come on, you’re not supposed to be doing this.”

“No, Ron this is important.” Hermione insisted, shifting the papers away as he reached for them.

He got hold of them and pulled the parchment from her hands, tossing them on the table. “See? This is why you’re stuck in the hospital. Because everyone knows you’re not going to do what the healers tell you unless you’re being watched!”

Hermione huffed deeply but relented. She had thus far written to almost every department with a mobile task force, relevant to the problem at hand or not but Goblin Liaison was the bottom of the proverbial barrel. She probably wasn’t going to send that one. But she was desperate for someone, anyone, to listen. She pressed a hand to her throbbing temple and took a breath. 

“Look you’ve given yourself a headache.” Ron scolded. “Forget this, and _rest_!”

“Alright!” she grumbled. “Alright, I’m done writing.”

“Good.” Ron sighed and sat down. “Now, I came to tell you, Harry and I are leaving tomorrow.”

The surprising and unexpected declaration caught her off guard enough to temporarily smooth her furrowed brow and distract her from her frustration. “Leaving? Where?”

“We’re going to give finding your wand one more go.” He said leaning back in the armchair. “Harry’s got himself an in with a squib that works in the muggle police department. Can get him to see some of the wreckage. We’ll use a tracing spell and see if we can pick up the magic.”

It would be faded or nonexistent if her wand was broken but it was worth a try, she supposed. Ollivander hadn’t been the same since the war and had had a lot of ground to cover with his destroyed shop. Expert wandmakers didn’t just materialize out of the ether and his advertisements for an apprentice had gone unanswered thus far. It might take a student several trips to multiple shops to find a compatible one. One poor first year when Hermione was prefect had had to go all the way to Japan to find the right match. She desperately hoped hers could be located at the crash site or in the debris, otherwise she was in for a long and tedious process…

“The more I think about it the more I’m not convinced it would be in the wreck.” She thought back, trying to grasp at floating and disconnected memories from the aftermath of the crash. “I can’t be sure, I… I think I had it in my hand when I got out of the train. But… oh gods, I could have dropped it anywhere. I was confused.”

“We’ll look.” Ron assured her. “It’ll be worth the trip to try, given how hard it is to get a new wand these days. Between Ollivander not what he once was thanks to his stay at Malfoy Manor.” He spat the last sentenced and Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “His shop destroyed, inventory blasted to pieces or looted. So many of the treaties falling through… its mad.”

Hermione frowned. “All the people who had their wands confiscated or destroyed by the ministry… Supply and demand has been difficult with the new students coming in, even a year later.” She flushed in embarrassment. “Not to mention the expense of a new one.”

Ron smiled encouragingly. “Hey. Don’t worry about it. If we have to get a new one, we have to get a new one.”

“I can’t help it, Ron.” She sighed. “You know how I hate spending money on me, especially when I’m not making much in Magical Creatures, and so much of your pay went to us getting ready for the baby and the apartment –“

“Hey, we _both_ put money into the apartment, and Rose.” He insisted. 

“I know but I make so much less.” She said. “I feel like I’m not contributing right now.”

Ron leaned forward; hands folded. “I don’t care about that. It’s not a competition.”

She smiled tiredly. “I know. Alright, I won’t fret, we don’t even know if I’ll need it. How long will it take?”

“No idea.” Ron shrugged. “We’re leaving in the morning. Might be quick, might be gone all day. But that’s the other reason I came in. The staff will let me bring in take away, so I was thinking maybe I’d get some to go orders from that little Sushi place in town you like so much. We can spend some time together, have an early dinner, ‘cause I won’t be able to pop in tomorrow.”

Hermione tilted her head, eyebrow raised. “You _hate_ sushi.”

“Yeah but you like it and there’s a pizza parlor right next store.” Ron grinned.

Hermione laughed, a good deal of her frustration slipping away. It was difficult to be angry when Ron was being the sweet guy she knew was under the temper and general obtuse musings. “Alright. That sounds really nice.” She relented.

Ron slapped his knees and stood up. “Alright then. I’m going to go up and see Rose again and then I’ll go see how Harry wants to go about things tomorrow. By time I’m done with that, it’ll be about time and I’ll swing over and grab the food.”

Hermione nodded her agreement and Ron went to leave. But then he stopped. “Oh! I almost forgot! I wanted to tell you I saw Malfoy downstairs.”

Hermione’s head snapped up.

“I didn’t talk to the git, but I know you were worried about him and Astoria and Scorpius.”

“Draco’s here, right now?”

“Yeah.” Ron nodded. “Picking something up in the lobby when I came up just now.”

Hermione held her breath, waiting for Ron to disappear. She listened carefully, waiting for his footsteps and fade on his way to the nursery before she threw the covers off and grabbed her bag, shrugging on a rob over her hospital gown as she went. Running through the corridors past objecting and surprised staff, she rummaged through her bag, searching, and finding one of the cards she had nicked from the nurse’s station and stowed. She reached the lobby, coming to a sudden stop at how crowded it was. Weaving through waiting people with various discolorations, boils, burns, one person missing a limb and somewhere someone was quacking, she made it to the receptionist desk where a harried and overwhelmed witch was hurrying through passing out forms and papers.

“Draco Malfoy?” Hermione asked in a rush, leaning on the desk and catching her breath. 

“Um… just walked out.” She said questioningly, eyebrow quirked. “But, wait!” she shouted as Hermione turned and ran towards the door. “You haven’t been signed out!!” 

Hermione burst through the door onto the surprisingly empty sidewalk, realizing as her feet hit the pavement, she was barefoot. Oh well. She looked around frantically and with a sigh of relief she saw Draco retreating down the sidewalk, casual muggle style suit, a white bag that looked like it had potions in it clutched in his hand. 

“Draco!” she called hurrying after him.

Draco stopped and turned, a confused look on his face and his expression slackened in surprise.

“Granger?” he asked, looking her up and down. “What the bloody hell?”

“I’ve been at St. Mungoes.” She explained in a hurry, stopping a few steps from him and bending slightly to breathe, her temples pulsing slightly. “The train, I saw… you and Astoria.”

Draco’s eyes widened slightly. “You were on that thing?”

“Yeah but they told me you were fine.” She gasped. “You and Scorpius. And Astoria. Right?”

“Uh… yeah.” He said quizzically. 

Draco had mellowed and matured considerably since their school days. And while no one would catch them all hanging out at the coffee shop, they all managed to coexist civilly. She hoped that would carry her through this conversation because if Lucius was correct, it wasn’t going to be an easy one. 

“What are you doing out here, Granger?” he asked, cutting to the chase.

Hermione swallowed. “Its… It’s about your father.”

The suspicious but politely attentive expression he wore immediately shuttered. “Not interested.”

“Stop, wait!” Hermione pleaded as Draco turned away to continue walking. “Please. Hear me out. I know things are strained between you, he told me. But he needs help. He’s in trouble. He’s… he’s hurt. Badly.”

Draco froze in his pace and turned, jerking around to face her. “Hurt? How? What happened?”  
Hermione breathed in mild relief, her pounding heart slowing a bit as she closed the fresh distance between her and Draco. Fear. That was a good sign wasn’t it? It meant whatever father son relationship they had wasn’t completely dead and gone. There was something left to call upon. 

“He was shot. By a muggle. Accidentally. I mean… it wasn’t an accident it was on purpose, but he wasn’t who they thought he was, and--- “

Draco shook his head staring at her blankly. “Granger, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ok.” Hermione pressed her hands together touching her fingertips to her lips. She was nervous and rambling. This was a hail Mary attempt to get Lucius help and she didn’t know what she’d do if Draco refused. She held out the card and he took it. “The point is, he’s in a muggle hospital, the same one I was taken to. He’s injured, critically so. He needs to be brought to St Mungoes as soon as possible, or at least somewhere a magical healer can attend him. I’ve talked to everyone. They won’t help him. You’re my – _his_ – last hope.”

Draco shifted, seeming to weigh her words, staring at the business card. “I don’t care.” He snapped, shoving the card in his pocket. But she noticed he didn’t throw it away.

Hermione shook her head. “That’s not true. I can tell.”

Draco dragged a hand through his hair in frustration, eyes flashing in anger. “He’s alive then?”  
She nodded slowly. “Yes. He said you wouldn’t come but –"

“Oh, look at that.” Draco replied acidly. “He finally got something right for once.”

Hermione took a deep breath. Her ire was rising but she knew she had to resist the urge to seize Draco’s emotional baggage and beat him with it. Clearly, he had issues with his father, and it wasn’t her business. But she had to convince him to put them aside, even if only temporarily. 

“I’m not asking you to forgive him.” Hermione told him. “I’m not asking you to even _talk_ to him. I’m asking you to save his life.” She lifted her hands helplessly. “He nearly died, Draco. He got shot because was helping me. He saved me and my baby.”

Draco looked at her in muted consideration. “He did?” But whatever he thought in that moment evidently fled and his face turned hard once again. “Probably has an angle to –"

“Wouldn’t know.” She scowled, cutting him off. “If he did have an ulterior motive, he was a little busy drowning in his own blood to mention it.”

That at least made him pale.

“He got hurt saving me,” Hermione continued. “But he was there in the first place because he was searching for _you_. He’s in trouble--”

“He doesn’t need me!” Draco insisted.

“Yes, he does!” 

“He got himself into it, he can get himself out!”

“Draco—"

“He ruined my life!” Draco shouted. Hermione frowned empathetically. A few passersby cast looks in their directions and Draco lowered his voice, chest heaving in anger. “You don’t know what that maniac did to us. Not all of it. You don’t know what he made me do! All because of my father. The choices he made, the missions he failed, he punished me to punish _him_!”

“I know you went through hell, Draco.” Hermione countered, folding her arms over her stomach. “But don’t you think your father did too? Why do you think you were the price for his failure? Why Voldemort used _you_ to punish _him_. Because he loved you.” Hermione could see his resolve shaking and pressed forward. “Your father made mistakes. A lot of them. But does he deserve this? Really? Are you _that_ angry at your father that you won’t help him when his life is at risk? When he could die?”

“He’s fine.” Draco said, but he looked uncertain. “You said he’s fine.”

“I said he was _better_. But things could go wrong.”

“What does that even mean?” Draco asked impatiently. “He’s ok or he’s not.”

Hermione rubbed her face in frustration, her stomach twisting and tightening in anger. “Do you have any understanding of even the basic definition of the term _shot_?” she asked, irritation growing. Maybe it was time to go for broke.

Draco gestured lamely with his hands, staring at her impatiently and Hermione huffed.  
“It means a ball of metal went through his back at 300 meters a second, tearing holes in anything it went through before punching a hole in his chest. You know what he’s recovering from? They had to cut his chest open and then do you know what they do? They have to pull his bones apart to get to the damage and sew his lung back together and everything else it destroyed. No magic or mending potions. No, muggles use a needle and thread, metal going through his flesh and organs, to hold his chest cavity together long enough to –"

“Alright, Granger, fuck!” Draco shouted, waving his hands at her.

Hermione folded her arms, vindictively pleased at the green tinge his face had taken on. “So?!” she pressed when he was silent. “Will you go _get_ him?!”

Draco huffed and looked at the sky, his eyes moving back and forth as he turned her speech over in his mind and after a few moments he swallowed hard and looked back at her.

“No.”

The breath fled Hermione’s lungs as she watched Draco turn hesitantly and leave, taking just a few steps in the opposite direction before disappearing in a snap of apparition. Her shoulders slumped, hands hanging by her sides as she stared off into the now empty space. She’d failed.  
A sight not far away caught her eye and she bit her lip thoughtfully. Maybe not yet. 

Hermine took short careful steps towards the payphone down the sidewalk, cramping in her belly warning her she was being reckless. One phone call. It might not be a complete wash. The only reason Lucius was trapped was because he was too injured to leave on his own, and no magic to patch himself together enough to go. If she could just get to him, Lucius could walk out. He just needed a little bit of intervention. 

But first she needed to see if he was still ok.

Stepping inside the booth, Hermione sifted through her bag. First, she pulled out her cellphone but wasn’t surprised to see it dead. Finding some muggle money, she continued rummaging through it, hoping she hadn’t given Draco the only business card, a short breath of triumph leaving her lips as her fingers closed around the cardstock. Slipping the coins in and straightening the business card Hermione dialed the number and waited impatiently leaning her now aching head against the cool plexiglass of the wall. 

It was a rigmarole of numbers to press but eventually she reached the proper desk. “Yes, hello?” she said anxiously when a real person finally answered. “I’m trying to check on a patient. He was an unknown male brought in with a gunshot wound through the back and the chest. He was in intensive care when I was there, first name Lucius.”

“Name?”

“Hermione Granger. He told the staff they could talk to me.”

“Hold please.”

Hermione bit her lip nervously, waiting in silence at the tone of tear jerkingly boring elevator music. It probably wasn’t long, but she was quickly tiring as well as anxious and the seconds that ticked by into a few minutes felt like hours.

“Ma’am?” the woman said after another moment.

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“Ma’am it seems I am allowed to talk to you, but that patient has been moved to general recovery so I’m afraid I don’t have any information for you.”

“Oh.” Hermione said flatly in surprise. Well… that at least was a good sign wasn’t it?

“I’ll transfer you.”

Hermione had barely time to say thank you when there was click and a dial tone and she was waiting again. It took a few minutes to get the right person and explain the situation yet again to two more people but finally she reached someone who could talk to her.

She was beyond pleased to hear he was as well as could be expected. But there was something shifty in the woman on the other end of the phone’s tone that set Hermione on edge and she didn’t immediately understand why until she gave the reason for calling. 

“I know he doesn’t want to be there longer than necessary.” Hermione explained. “What I need to know is when he can be moved to private care? IF he we re to sign himself out with the proper wavers, I’d be willing to-“

“I’m afraid that’s not possible miss.”

Hermione swallowed. “I understand its unusual. But surely if a patient wishes to leave the hospital can’t stop them? His condition was serious but stable. And as I said, he’ll receive care closer to home and-“

“You misunderstand.” The receptionist said. “To be honest miss, we _can’t_ let him go.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, heart ponding and stomach twisting. Had he relapsed? Had something happened? Had someone already found him and –

“That patient has been sectioned.”

Hermione paled. A psych hold? “What? Why?!”

“There’s been… a number of factors. Some of the things he said under anesthesia concerned the staff.”

_Oh, gods what the hell did he say?_

“Well you can’t hold that against him, he was drugged.” Hermione insisted. 

“No, and we wouldn’t but there are other concerns. A gunshot victim, with no identification, no record in the system, odd markings, refusal to give his last name, seems to have no idea where he is, no understanding of basic functions of life. There’s been… incidents… but suffice it to say its not believed he is in a fit mental state to decide – or even understand - his care. Police are involved now and the doctor has issued an emergency section –“

Hermione rubbed her face aggressively fighting the urge to smack her forehead against the phone booth in aggravation. Understand. Of course, he didn’t understand! And she hadn’t even thought of this as a possibility let alone to bring it up and warn him! What must he be thinking?

“Have you… told him that he can’t leave?”

“Yes, he was informed of the hospital’s decision.”

Hermione waited but she obviously wasn’t going to elaborate. “Did he take it well?"

There was a short pause. “No, he did not. Hence the police. Which,” the woman added in a rush, “Really only strengthened the need for detainment. He’s a danger to himself and to others.”

Hermione stifled a groan. Others, _definitely_ others. There was no way a man like him would understand an involuntary psych hold, nor willingly tolerate it. Maybe she could diffuse it from here. “Can I speak to him?”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible at the moment.”

Hermione slapped the wall in frustration. How had this all snowballed so spectacularly?  
“How long do you intend to hold him?”

“Difficult to say. Usually 72 hours to begin with before evaluation, which can take about a month. I know this sounds distressing but it’s for his own good and he is entitled to legal advice. Would you like to talk to the social work or psychiatrist? They could tell you more about the process.”

“No.” she said numbly. “Thank you.”

Hermione hung the phone up lost in thought, feeling helpless. 

This was all bad. This was all very bad.

Her mind began spinning in circles as she leaned against the phone booth door, with all the possibilities and problems that could arise. He could attempt to escape and harm himself – or worse. What if he considered them a threat and got hurt trying to defend himself? What if they committed him? Or had another magical outburst, if he hadn’t already had one. No one here would help preserve his life, but she’d bet they’d come running wands raised to arrest him for a statue of secrecy breach! She thought bitterly.

And what if he were exposed and someone came after him?

Hermione covered her eyes with her hand, panic rising as she realized she’d all but told every single department in an obviously hostile ministry where he was and what condition he was in. This couldn’t wait anymore. He could not stay there. If the wrong person heard… She could have just led someone who meant ill straight to him, and he was trapped. 

_God, that was stupid Hermione!_ She berated herself for her lack of foresight. _What the hell!_

She exited the phonebooth with a defeated huff, passersby pausing and looking at her with obvious confusion and suspicion. She realized the sight she must be. Hair unkempt and tied back, the hospital gown and robe, no shoes and looking like an escaped mental patient, with her cheeks flushed angrily, eyes wild, and muttering to herself. She summoned what dignity she could muster and walked back towards the hospital. Head aching, womb cramping, she’d done too much. But she had more to do. But what?

Suddenly she stopped. Escaped mental patient. That was it! She had an idea, but she needed a few things from home and Diagon alley… She had made a promise and she had to get him out. 

And if no one was going to help her, then she was going to do it _herself…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione’s HAD it. o_O Stay tuned! Next chapter, Lucius returns to the stage to join our leading lady.


	13. Hermione the Gryffindor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione puts a plan into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a much longer chapter I think so I split it into two for an attempt at improving readability. Both chapters will be uploaded on the same day. I didn't want you all to have to wait for some resolutions after being so patient with the seemingly endless frustration Hermione’s been experiencing. So buckle in, it's going to be a ride!

_“You can lose your faith in loving.  
You can lose the will to trust, but you'll see,  
You can't lose me.  
You can lose control and lose your senses.  
Lose your strength, lose your defenses.  
But you'll see,   
You can't lose me.”_   
**You Can’t Lose Me, Billy Ray Cyrus**

**24 May 2000**

Hermione had tried the proper way to get the help for Lucius that she knew he desperately needed even though he had insisted when she left that she could depart with a clear conscience. She couldn’t. She couldn’t explain it… but she needed to see this through. But it seemed no matter what she said no one would budge.

But that was fine wasn’t it? Lucius Malfoy was a resourceful wizard, he had means. No wand, but he could arrange his own care, she just had to get him out of the hospital so he could do it, right? 

Right.

But she couldn’t just walk him out, he was still injured. But she _could_ heal him on her own. At least enough to get him walking and able to travel. She was no expert healer, but she’d seen and studied enough to be able to do what was necessary. But she’d need things from home and from Diagon Alley.

Upon reentering the hospital the previous night, she had complied with the irritated and fussing staff without argument or resistance. She tuned out her healers’ expected tirade about her sudden flight from her hospital bed, formulating her thoughts. What was she going to do?

Her Gryffindor streak wanted to storm the place now, demand his release and turn anyone who got in her way into a toad. The more rational inner voice knew neither of them could afford such a display and she needed a plan. She’d have to get there and back quickly. She’d have to figure out a way to get him out, unseen or at least unhindered and not get both of them arrested. Her wand was gone most important of all. That was likely to cause significant challenges. She couldn’t afford to rush it and go in with a volatile one. Or borrow one and risk some spells of uses of… questionable legality… showing upon someone else’s wand. Nor could she afford to wait long enough to go through the process of matching a new one to her or waiting for hers to turn up. Suddenly she snickered hearing Ron in the back of her head. “Are you a witch or not?!” he’d asked her on more than one occasion.

_Yes, you’re a witch._ She thought. _But you’re a muggleborn too. Think like a muggle. What can you do to get him out?_

Hermione grabbed her quill and papers and started scribbling out a list. What would she do with a wand? Apparition obviously. But that was dangerous for both of them at the moment anyway. _Enchanted car it is then._ What else? Healing charms? Unlocking Spells maybe? Disillusionment to get past the guards and staff most likely… What were her options? Before too long Hermione had a few ideas and then started in on a list of what she knew of Lucius’ condition and what she could do for him herself.

She could do this. After all. She’d snuck into a heavily guarded dystopian ministry of magic run by a sadistic madman… a muggle hospital would be a piece of cake. 

She hoped. 

Iggy could be prevailed upon to bring Rose from the nursery and Hermione spent a few hours before sleep tugged forcefully at both of them. And after the cuddles and kisses, Hermione confessed her plan to her little girl with tears in her eyes.

“I didn’t think I’d have to leave you somewhere so soon.” She lamented between sniffles. She wiped at the tears furiously. “But it will only be for a few extra hours in the morning. And I promise I’ll come back. Don’t be angry with mummy?”

Rose gurgled and fisted her hand in Hermione’s hair. 

“You know I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t think it was important.” Hermione continued. “Everyone is probably going to be very upset with your mum when she gets back. Do you remember Lucius? Well… everyone is being a bit difficult about him right now. So… mummy is going to go get him. Is that ok?”

She kissed Rose on the head, stroking her cheek and held her, humming until she fell asleep. After a while, when Hermione’s eyes began to grow heavy with the comfort and ease of the moment, she heard Iggy the elf return. 

“Miss should be letting Iggy take the baby now, before miss falls asleep. No wanting any dropped babies!”

Hermione smiled tiredly and hesitantly relinquished her hold and the elf carried the peacefully sleeping Rose away from the bed. 

She woke up the next morning at about the time she had hoped to. Checking the clock in the room, she knew Ron and Harry would be leaving soon. Hermione waited for the witch who brought the potions when patients were due them had come to her bed. Taking them dutifully she reached under her bed after she had left again, sifting through the modest bag Ginny had thoughtfully packed for her. Brushing her hair and tying it back she found a set of clothes, form fitting yoga pants and a loose baby blue blouse. _God bless you Ginny_ , she sighed, the fabric fitting loose and comfortable over her sore battered frame. 

Potions administered, clothes on (and shoes this time), and beaded bag clutched tightly in her hand, she peered out from behind the curtains around her bed she saw the healer busy with a heavily bandaged patient in the corner and breezed quietly by easily. 

Down to the lobby and out the door was a trickier matter, there were more people to evade. But with some patience and careful blending she dodged the field of visions of the staff and slipped out the door and made her way quickly to Diagon Alley to get what she needed and then to her home. It all took far longer than she was comfortable with and she had taken a gamble assuming Ron and Harry would apparate to their destination and not take the car. But, it turned out to be a fair chance to take, the car in its expected place on the street and she smirked as she slid into the driver’s seat of the unassuming grey sedan. _Like father like son._

But enchanted muggle car or no enchanted muggle car… Hermione still hated flying and she had been driving for several minutes before she managed to talk herself into it. You don’t have three hours to drive there like a muggle. Put on your big girl panties and do it! 

First the lever to hide the contraption from muggles – fine-tuned and improved of course – and then the sequence of dials to set it flying. She fought the urge to close her eyes as she gripped the steering wheel in a near panic. But she took deep breaths and repeated all her reasons for this mad flight of desperation like a mantra and soon enough what would have been a several hour fight with morning commuter traffic, ended in a thirty-minute flight. Dizzy and breathless she touched down and slumped back in the chair with a sigh of relief. _I made it._

Getting out of the car, Hermione looked across the lawn and parking lot and stared up at the tall glistening building, her heart pounding. This was going to be the hard part. 

First things first, she didn’t want to be recognized should her face end up on a wanted poster.

Fishing in her bag she pulled out her sunglasses and tied a thin head wrap around her upswept curls. She looked a bit too 1950s “I Love Lucy” for her taste but she looked tolerably like every girl out for a summer drive. She had no definitive beauty or features to speak of in her own opinion and thanks to the anti muggle enchantments, no one would ever notice the car. 

Raising her chin, she strode across the hot parking lot, exuding far more confidence than she felt. If there was one thing she had learned over the years of subterfuge and rule breaking with the boys, was if you were going to be sneaky, walk in like you own the place. 

Her heart pounded faster as she entered the large sliding doors into the spacious and pristine lobby. There was a waiting area to the right, a counter and a hallway that denoted lab testing. She went to the left instead, to a separate waiting area behind a half wall strewn with artificial plants for people to await news from surgical procedures. Glancing at the large screen in the corner and picking up a magazine like she belonged there, Hermione sat down in a chair, gathering her bearings. 

Straight ahead was a directory, a few closed offices, a main desk by the window with one muggle woman busily tapping into a computer. Few people were in the waiting area this early which meant being seen would be a bigger problem. Fortunately, one of them was a rather anxious older gentleman who was continuously asking the woman at the desk for information, and updates on this or that. She’d have to time this well.

Looking further down the hallway straight ahead past the welcome desk, Hermione could see what looked like a small cafeteria and an alcove off to the side that looked like it housed the restroom and elevators. Picking up a hospital brochure from the cluttered coffee stained table she thumbed through the pages quickly. General recovery. Would he be in a transitional unit or still in a post-op wing? She suddenly wished she had thought to ask the nurse on the phone yesterday for more specifics. But a quick, hushed call from her battery freshened cellphone helped her narrow down her search. As she closed it and replaced it in her bag she thought briefly about calling Ginny or even Ron and Harry and telling them she was alright in case they’d already been aerated to her by now obvious absence from her hospital bed. But she decided no. They wouldn’t understand why she was doing this. Especially Ron. And it was better to ask for forgiveness in this instance than permission.

Not that she’d be waiting for said permission anyway.

Lucius was still being monitored in post op, which made her wonder if something had happened to require the extra time. It also presented a problem. Given the care he needed and the fact he was now sectioned, it was going to be more problematic to get to him than just walking through the lobby. Eventually she would need a keycard, or something to get her through doors. To say nothing of police. 

That was when Hermione saw it. Her “in”. An aged gentleman in navy blue coveralls coming out of a utility closet pushing a large cumbersome cart. From his belt with keys, tools and a pager was a keycard swinging back and forth on a retractable keychain. That would do. 

Hermione slipped casually out of her chair and into on opposite the waiting area net to the trashcan, for all purposes looking like she was very interested in the droning talk show on the telly. She waited, and eventually the custodian reached her space.

“Pardon me miss.” the gruff voiced man flashed a shy toothy smile. Hermione nodded and the man turned his back to her and began removing the boxy lid from the can. She’d have to work quickly. Closing her eyes, she summoned every bit of willpower she could to do the thing she’d been expressly told not to do, and she felt the warning ache in her head to prove it.

_Come on, come on!_ She thought as the keycard remained stubbornly hooked to the utility belt. _You confounded McClaggin from across the bloody quidditch pitch you can damn well do this!_

Just as the gentleman finished changing the bag and stooped to pick up the lid, the cord shook and gave, the keycard falling silently to the carpeted floor. Hermione gave a shaky, quiet breath of triumph and relief, her palms sweating, and she stretched out her foot to drag the card closer to her and hide it under her shoes. Just in time for the custodian to give a small polite salute as he turned away and continued to the other side of the lobby, unaware of his pilfered keycard.   
Hermione stood and leaned on the half wall, picking the card up as she straightened. The older man waiting impatiently was again grilling the wearily polite receptionist and as she turned to once again look up whatever he was asking her about on her computer, Hermione strode casually across the lobby and down the hallway.

It took stealth and patience, but she managed to find her way around the hospital, clandestinely gathering the things she needed for her plan to work. She managed to be relatively unnoticed as she did so and by the time she emerged from a locker room in pink scrubs and a surgical mask, she was hesitantly confident that she might be able to actually pull this off…

Without looking too much like a lost tourist, Hermione eventually found the wing Lucius was being - for lack of a better word - held. It was then she realized another benefit beyond his wellbeing that he had been moved out of ICU - none of the staff or nurses would recognize her here. She made her way, paying close attention to the security cameras, fire exists and elevators. Through the last set up large swinging doors was a larger more open area with a circular desk with several muggles, nurses busily going in and out of rooms, evidently a problem in hallway as a doctor and several nurses rushed to a patient. No one gave Hermione a second look.

Lucius wasn’t hard to find. A room at the end of the hall, two police officers stood outside the closed door. That seemed a bit excessive. Three nurses were nearby, one with a cart, one at a computer typing and the other shaking her head at the other talking. Hermione approached the group, heart pounding. This was it. 

“Hi, I’m Jean.” the three nurses looked up as Hermione greeted them, tugging down her facemask. “They sent me down to help with this patient, what the heck is going on?”

“Oh, thank God.” a sharp cheeked blonde woman said, slumping over the cart in relief. “We’ve been begging for the social worker or the therapist to send someone - anyone - to try and do something.”

The older auburn-haired nurse laughed, her weathered face wrinkling slightly with her smile. “I like him. No nonsense _and_ an absolute dish.”

“Oh no, don’t get me wrong.” the blonde retorted, “Totally fuckable I’m just saying hitting him over the head with this tray is a viable option too.”

Hermione blushed at the phrasing. “How is he, medically?”

“Better.” an Irish accented redhead at the keyboard droned. “At least he was the last time anyone could get close enough to check. Unfortunately, now he’s conscious.”

“Unfortunately?” Hermione repeated. 

“That patient is a pain in the ass.” the redhead gestured at the door. “Now that he’s awake we need consent and he’s refused pretty much everything. Ripped out his morphine drip, tried to do the same to the catheter--”

Hermione sucked air through her teeth in a grimace “Ah!”

“Yeah! Said he'd go to the men’s room like a man or the next tube we came at him with was going in whatever orifice he could get at first.”

That sounded like him.

“He won’t take the pills,” the nurse continued, “Antibiotics or pain, won’t even drink water, said he had no idea what we were trying to put in him but he wasn’t going to be our lab cricket. What the hell does that even mean? What the fuck is a lab cricket?”

Hermione fought back a snort as the nurse went back to typing.

“Forgive her,” the auburn-haired woman smirked. “She’s coming off a double shift and she’s cranky.”

“No, no.” the redhead insisted. “No, I’m not cranky, he’s nuts. He won’t give his name, won't eat, tried to make a payment on his hospital bill with gold so we’d let him go– like ACTUAL pieces of real solid gold. How do I even process that in the system? _And_ ,” She added, waving her finger aggressively. “When I tried to explain a saline drip, he said it sounded liked dark magic and he’d had quite enough of it. He’s crazy.”

“Maybe he escaped a cult or something.” the older nurse shrugged. 

_You have no idea._ Hermione thought. “And the police?” she pressed aloud.

“Assaulted the orderlies that came when he tried to leave mid-exam.” the blonde said with an airy huff. 

Hermione sighed. Oh dear. If there was going to be anything worse than Lucius in a muggle hospital, it was Lucius in a muggle jail.

“Why don't I give it a try?” Hermione ventured.

She scoffed and pushed the cart towards Hermione. “Be my guest. The bandages need to be changed too but no one can get near him. I'm this close to finding someone with a sedative loaded blow dart gun.”

Hermione smiled politely and pulled her mask on as she turned towards the police officers with the cart. One looked bored and didn't even look up. The other looked up at her approach and opened the door for her to push the cart through. She murmured her thanks and with a deep shuddering “I can’t believe I actually got this far” sigh of relief, she slipped into the room and closed the door, locking it and closing the shades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t freak out! Next chapter to be uploaded in a few minutes!


	14. A Considerable Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets to Lucius and they have the chance for a nice long chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn’t see, TWO chapters were uploaded today, so you will want to back up to chapter 13 if you’re just tuning in here. Enjoy! Sorry its a long one.

_“You put me on a roller coaster, fly me on a plane.  
You send me to another planet, get inside my brain.  
I knew right when I met you, I would never be the same.  
But I let you take me over, girl, so I'm the one to blame.” _  
**“Lose My Mind”, Brett Eldredge**

**NOTE: Repeating in case you don’t read Authors Notes. TWO chapters were uploaded today, so you will want to back up to chapter 13 if you’re just tuning in here. On to the story:**

The room was dark, only a bit of natural light through the parted blinds, and she had stepped into a small space with storage cabinets and a counter with varied standard hospital room needs. She heard him before she saw him…

“If you’re here with more sponges you can take them straight to hell!” he snapped angrily.  
His voice was angry, but she smiled. He sounded strong, intimidating and coherent and she breathed another relieved sigh. Her gut ceased its anxious, nauseated twisting and she found she preferred irritable but alert Lucius to weak, placid Lucius, even if it meant he was obviously more difficult. Her relieved smile faded however when she stepped further into the room, seeing him for the first time in days. Any previous calm, either forced or natural, of her previous encounters with him had fled. Only chaotic rage emanated from him at this point and she could tell he was stressed and pained before she even looked at his alarmingly elevated heart rate on the monitor. 

His white knuckled grip on the bed rail, his eyes flashing with fury as he stared out the window, breathing heavily, his eyes closing with a silent snarl of pain as his chest rose and fell rapidly, and an undercurrent of magic sizzling in warning; this was closer to what she had expected from an encounter with Lucius Malfoy. But oddly enough she found it didn’t vex or concern her. She recognized it as a defense. To anyone else he’d seem furious and yes maybe there was some anger there. But more so she saw pain. Intense, distracting pain and yes, perhaps fear. She knew some called him a coward, though she wasn’t sure she necessarily bought that assessment even before all this. But it wasn’t the kind of fear she saw right now anyway. His fear was not the throat baring surrender of prey, but of a cornered panther crouched in response, teeth flashing, daring anyone to get too close...

“And if you do not remove the rest of these wires from me immediately I swear to every known god in the universe the first thing I get my hands on is going straight up your –“

“Well, I’m glad to see your back to your old ill tempered, opinionated self.” she said cheerily, hands on her hips.

Lucius’ eyes flew open, his head snapping towards her, his lips parting in obvious shock. “I… you… Ms. Granger?”

“Hermione, I thought we agreed.” she reminded him as she turned on the lights. “Ms. Granger makes me feel like I’m getting scolded at school.”

He shook his head slowly. “You… came back?”

She couldn’t help a small smile at the genuinely perplexed and surprised expression on his face. He really hadn’t expected her to… “Of course I did. I told you that I would.”

Hermione glanced up at the monitor, her heart warming oddly as she watched his pulse and blood pressure coming down in real time at her arrival, his breathing slowing. 

“I just… didn’t expect--” He stopped and smirked knowingly. “You tried appealing to Draco, anyway, didn’t you?”

She frowned. “He…he _did_ ask if you were alive. That’s something.”

He forced a smile that came out as more of a grimace. But then his eyes travelled over her body and he raised an eyebrow quizzically.

Hermione looked down and plucked at “her” scrubs. “I… uh… stole it from a locker in the showers.” she squirmed a bit. “I left money.”

He stared at her dumbfounded and then scoffed. “Only you would steal something and then think to leave money to replace it. What are you doing here, Hermione? I do hope it's to tell these women I can bloody well bathe myself.”

“Better than that.” She said, stepping closer to the bed with the cart the nurse had handed off to her. “I’m here to break you out.”

His features arrested violently as he looked at her as if she said she was going to sprout wings and fly them out the window. “How?” he asked incredulously, glancing towards the guarded door and then watching as she laid her bag on top of the cart, pulling potions and salves out and the pale blue surgeon’s scrubs she’d nicked from the locker room.

“First things first.” she said distractedly, looking over the bottles and then rummaging through the contents of the cart and then the cabinets for bandage scissors. “Let's do something about these injuries.”

“Shouldn’t you be in the hospital yourself?” he asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Instead of risking getting caught releasing me?”

“Oh no.” she lied, continuing to lay out her supplies. “They cleared me. And they’re so happy someone else is dealing with you they’re not going to bother us. It's supposed to take a while. I told them I would deal with you for your bath… and your bandaging… and your medicine. You’re not letting them do their job?”

“I can’t trust them.” he said gruffly. 

He was looking out the window like a wounded animal, his eyes wild with suspicion and anger.  
“Can you still trust _me_?” Hermione asked tentatively, her voice quiet.

Lucius looked up at her and remained silent for a moment. Then, he swallowed hard and nodded slowly.

Hermione gave a silent breath of relief and picked up the bandaging scissors. But as she stepped closer, she gasped silently, seeing the metal and fabric tight around his wrists. “Lucius…”

He followed the line of her sight and he smirked ruefully, “Apparently I am a lunatic.” He said dryly, tugging at the restraints uselessly and she grimaced. 

The sight of him strapped to the bed distressed her deeply for reasons she could not immediately identify. Rushing forward, she began undoing the restraints, her hands shaking. Thankfully they were hospital restraints, not handcuffs. She hadn’t even _thought_ to prepare for _that_ possibility.

“Lucius, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for this whole giant mess. They shouldn’t have done this…” she said quietly. 

Hermione leaned over the bed and released his wrist from the other, and he dropped his head back wearily, his eyes softening in deep but silent gratitude. He began to visibly relax, but as she straightened, she noticed deep bruising on his forearm, and a telltale blood spatter against the pillowcase and bed coverings. 

She turned back to her cart and found one of the vials. “Here. Drink that, it will numb the pain so I can work on you a bit better.”

He drank it and sighed in relief, closing his eyes with what looked like the first relief he’d had in days. “Thank you.” he breathed.

Hermione frowned as the agony slowly dissipated from his face, and she took the scissors in hand again and pulled a rolling stool from the corner to sit beside the bed. “Why did you tear out the morphine drip?” she asked as she began to first undo the blood pressure cuff, oxygen monitor and the various wires from the sensors on his side and chest. She paused only briefly as her eye was drawn to something that she hadn’t noticed in her rush to remove the restraints… He still had her hairband on his wrist. She bit back an unexplainable smile. 

“It made me feel crazy,” he confessed as she removed the last of it and dropped it beside the bed. “And then they tried to put other things in it. To force me to sleep and since I'm now here against my will I couldn’t very well trust them not to do something else so… I’d rather suffer the pain than be out of my wits in enemy territory.”

Hermione paused in her task of carefully cutting away the rust stained, bloody bandaging and gauze and looked up. “Sedatives.” she sighed. “Lucius. A psych hold, police guard, isolation, restraints and sedation all in 48 hours?!”

His eyes widened slightly, and he looked over at her. “Is that all it's been?”

“Yes, I left you two days ago.” she answered, going back to cutting. “Now, do you want to tell me what happened?”

He scoffed in frustration. “It was all fine until they moved me down here and started asking questions. Things I either couldn’t answer or didn’t understand enough to answer, which led to more questions that I _definitely_ couldn’t answer, which led to someone called a psychologist coming in and asking very odd questions about my mother and my upbringing and before I knew it I… well here we are. Only they kept bringing in those Neanderthals they call orderlies and forcing in a new one. After they restrained me and I pulled the last one out with my teeth and reopened this damn patch job they’ve done on me, they finally accepted I would not have it and stopped. I’m sure temporarily.”

Hermione shook her head. “See. Now when I left, I told you not to do anything crazy until I could get you out. _All_ of this counts as crazy.”

“You don’t know me well enough yet.” he countered. “I've actually been rather placid.”

Hermione tilted her head permissibly. “Well to be honest, maybe crazy would have been a better idea. If you spontaneously combusted your monitors or made the day nurse sprout antlers then at least the ministry would have had to get involved or-“ She trailed off at the wicked gleam in his eyes. “ _Did you_ make the nurse sprout antlers?” she asked dryly.

One side of his mouth curved upward in a sinisterly pleased smirk. “No. Not antlers.”

Hermione shook her head. “I knew I had a bad feeling when I left you.” But she fell silent as she gently pulled the dressing away from his body and she paled, her lips parting as she revealed the wound. She had thought she was prepared for the injury, the blood, the stitches, but she was wrong, and her stomach coiled unpleasantly, bile rising in her throat at the gruesome expanse of the injury and surgical incisions.

“Quite hideous is it not?” he asked. “The damage was apparently… quite extensive.”

“Yes.” She swallowed, hard, regretful tears stinging her eyes. “Here. Can you lean forward?”

He nodded but she helped him anyway, and she removed the simple adhesive dressing the entry wound in his back. She was again hit with the reality of the mere centimeters he had come to instant death as she took a magical powder mixed with yarrow and witch hazel to keep the wound from bleeding and gently packed the wound before applying the healing salve and covering it in a fresh bandage. 

She supported him as he laid back against the bed with a stifled groan and she resumed her position on the stool, frowning as she studied the angry wounds in his chest and the various stages of healing. Dittany would help some of this, but she worried she didn’t have enough. In a perfect situation she could administer the needed potions and then he could rest and recover in peace, but time wasn’t their friend at the moment. 

She clicked her tongue anxiously. “This looks worse than it should. Did you reopen this when you fought with security?”

He looked up at her. “They mentioned that did they?”

“They did.” she said, frowning at the line of surgical staples across his ribs that looked like they had been reapplied on further damaged flesh. Surgical staples, she huffed inwardly. The stitches would fade on their own but those would need to come out before she could heal the wounds.  
“I may have…. exacerbated the problem when I had a disagreement with the men who came to restrain me, yes.”

 _That’s what we’re calling it?_ She thought wryly. “Disagreement huh? What exactly did you do?”

“That is... unimportant.” he answered but watched her opening vials with an expression of uncertainty, as if he were debating whether or not to tell her something.

“This will sting a bit.” she warned him, “I have to make sure the wounds are clean.” She poured the potion over the injuries and he hissed at the contact. “Alright.” she stood. “Now just lie back and let that work for a bit. I’ve got to find something for these staples…”

Hermione felt his eyes on her as she moved about the room, opening drawers, bins, and cabinets. It was looking hopeless and she turned to rummage through her bag for the tools she’d thrown in when he finally spoke again. 

“I… I don’t do well with this.” he admitted. “With captivity. I… when they told me I could not leave I suppose I lost what little sense and composure I’d managed to retain. I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.”

Hermione smiled a bit sadly at the undertone of vulnerability in that confession. “I know.” He still looked uncertain as if he’d just confessed some unforgivable secret but to a man like him, any display of weakness was certainly the worst possible offense. Tools and vials in hand she sat back down. “Muggles have a term called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s when you still struggle with past traumas long after they’re over. Talking about it can help.”

He scoffed. “I am not a therapy, mind healing, share circle kind of man.” he told her, taking the two vials she held out. 

She giggled softly. “No. I guess not. Drink both of those.” She commanded, mixing a bit of enchanted water into a jar of salve and setting it aside. “That will help heal any internal bleeding or tears, and start mending the bones that were broken.” 

He did so as she picked up the pliers and wire cutters to clean them and he looked at her in horror. “What the bloody hell are those and where are you putting them?”

“Try and relax. I can’t find the tool you’re supposed to use so this is going to take some patience. You still trust me?”

His eyes were narrowed suspiciously but he laid back against the inclined bed. “Yes.”

Hermione reached out her hand and touched his ribcage gently but firmly testing the analgesic potions. “Can you feel this?” 

“No.” he answered.

“Good.” she nodded. “Don’t tense.”

Slowly and carefully Hermione took her pliers and cutters and one at a time snipped and tugged each surgical staple from his side. It was a slow-going process, frightened as she was to do something wrong and worsen matters. This was a highly improper way to do this, but time was short and desperate. She was sure no one would think to look in for quite some time but there were no guarantees…

“Did it help you at all?” Lucius asked.

“Hmm?” she replied, brow furrowed as she continued working.

“Talking about it. Did it help you?”

She smiled vaguely. “Are you so sure I had issues and _needed_ help?”

She could practically hear his answering smirk. “I’d be very surprised if you didn’t.” he replied.

Hermione paused and looked up to meet his surprisingly intense eyes. “A bit.” she confessed. “Helped me come to terms with things I guess.”

“I imagine objective, detached assistance is difficult to come by in the wizarding world with events that plagued almost everyone.” Lucius supposed.

“Um… actually I didn’t go to someone in the wizarding world.” she said, pausing in her task to dress the freshly bleeding wounds with the dropper of dittany. 

He raised a curious eyebrow.

“Yeah, I… saw a muggle therapist actually.” she told him, inspecting and applying more of the mending liquid before continuing with the wire cutters. “I mean, I told them an abridged version. Obviously I couldn’t walk into the office and say ‘So yeah there’s this quasi-immortal half snake man that came back from the dead, and tried to kill half the population of a secret world because he didn’t like where their magic came from and had daddy issues’. But I could tell them about things on a more basic level.”

“I… don't think I've heard the Dark Lord described quite that way before.”

He sounded amused and Hermione smiled. “I suppose it would have been less stressful going to a mind healer, not worrying about saying something I shouldn’t but… I don’t know. I didn’t want the pressure. People expect certain things about me… from me… I wanted the anonymity that came in the muggle world and… I’m sorry I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Truth be told she hadn’t even told Ron and Harry she’d pursued therapy. She wasn’t entirely sure she’d hidden that bit of information from her friends. Perhaps she needed to analyze that as well. Yet she was sitting here confessing it to Lucius Malfoy. Things had certainly gotten strange over the last week. 

“No. I understand.”

“You do?” she asked, a bit surprised.

A smirk curved his lips again. “You think a man with a past like mine wouldn’t understand a craving for anonymity? The difference is you earned it. After everything, you have the right to it.”

She wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. His empathy surprised her, even still. And he had no medications to blame it on now… 

“Well.” she said, pausing again to apply dittany to the incision she was opening. “Briefly I thought you’d be better off here than at St. Mungoes for obvious reasons. Now, I’m not sure where you belong. But you need anonymity too. At least you're not in the muggle system.”

“That's the problem.” he said, grimacing as she began pulling the staples again. “I _am_ in the system. That's why I can’t give them my last name. I needed certain paperwork for business reasons, and if they run my name... “

“They’ll find you and it might affect your family's business holdings.” she sighed.

“Precisely. Something I cannot afford given the already damaged reputation in the wizarding world. Aargh!” he groaned in surprise with a sharp hiss of pain as she removed a particularly stubborn staple, disturbing the deep internal stitching.

Hermione’s head snapped up. “I thought you couldn't feel it!”

“I lied.” he gasped, laying back, his hand at his side.

She huffed. “Just a few more.”

Catching his breath, he was quiet for a few moments before speaking again. “Before... when you were here. You said, ‘ _they’d have to treat you anyway even if you’re stubborn._ ’ What did you mean?” 

“Oh.” Hermione responded in surprise. “I meant… Well, healers in the muggle world have something called a Hippocratic oath, based on ancient Greek medical texts. It deals with privacy, knowledge, an oath to treat the ill to the best of one’s ability. There’s a slew of laws around it all over the world. Legally, muggle doctors can’t refuse a patient. No matter who they are. It doesn’t matter what you've done. You could be a muggle Voldemort or prisoner for life--”

Lucius’ brow furrowed. “Muggles treat their prisoners?”

“Yes.” she answered. “Our prison systems are far from perfect. There’s abuse and corruption like anywhere but… there’s healthcare. Most prisons have clinics on site to treat prisoners or send them to hospitals if they can’t.”

Lucius said nothing in response to this, only staring up at the ceiling, and she could see the wheels turning in his eyes. She wondered what he thought of it all, but she didn’t press him on it. _Let him process it for a while._

“There. All done.” She breathed, setting her tools aside and applying a last dose of dittany and powder to the wounds across his chest and ribs. Sanitizing her hands and picking up the salve she mixed, she dipped her fingers into the jar and gently started layering it on the injuries.  
“Is this ok? I’m not hurting you?”

“Not at all.”

There was an odd edge to his voice, and she looked up, her breath catching at the stormy, contemplative look in his eyes, his breathing ragged and uneven as she ran her hands over his body. Her lips parted and she cleared her throat quickly averting her gaze and trying to double down on her focus. 

“It… it will help…” she stammered, her cheeks suddenly hot, her heart pounding. “You’ll need something stronger later, but this will help prevent infection and pain, and keep the wounds sealed.”

“Why are you doing this, Hermione?”

“I should think that would have been obvious.” she countered, trying to ignore the silky tone of his voice. Why did he have to sound like that? 

“You came here, in danger of crossing your own legal system as well as ours.” He analyzed as she continued to avoid meeting his stare. “I note you’re using no magic, so that means your wand is still missing and you did not wait to get a new one. So, you've come, alone, wandless, rushing to get here, nothing to get you through the door but your own wits, at risk to your own health. It would seem a long way above and beyond, for relatively little reason.”

“Not little reason!” She countered hotly. “I was terrified something would happen to you! And...” she shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t... _always_ think things through when I decide on a course of action.”

“A bold admission.” Lucius smirked. 

Hermione sat back and put down the jar, satisfied with her work. In this at least, they were fortunate it was a muggle magicless wound. Had it been a curse, he’d be in for a far longer recovery. The wounds slowly closed leaving angry welts instead of open incisions and she set about gently washing the blood from his chest before taking out new adhesive gauze to cover the potions she’d applied.

“I want you to know that even though I’m grateful to you more than I’ll ever be able to say... that’s not the only reason I'm here.” she told him, finally lifting her head to look at him, hoping he would see honesty in her expression. “This isn’t… transactional. I was genuinely concerned for you... if that matters.”

“I find it does.” Lucius replied with a slight tone of wonder, as if this revelation that it was important to him surprised him.

“Ok.” Hermione breathed, standing up and putting her hands on her hips to stretch her back. “Let’s see. Can you stand?”

Hermione stooped to slip her arm around him and move the bedcovers as he sat up. She realized too late she should have asked, but he was wearing drawstring trousers. A week recovering from a shooting and surgery hadn’t done his strength any favors, but he stood cautiously, noticeably hesitant to lean on her, straightening with an expression of surprise and triumph. 

“How does everything feel?” she asked, running her hands over his chest briefly before jerking her hand away in embarrassment. _Stop touching him Hermione!_ She blushed as a slight smile curved his mouth and his eyes sparkled with amusement at her discomfort. “I… I just mean… can you breathe alright? You feel normal? Or close to it?” 

An odd look passed through his eyes that for some reason made her body temperature spike. “Perfectly. I’m fine.” His face softened considerably. “Thank you.”

She smiled up at him and nodded, turning away in a hurry. “Ok. Phase two.”

“Phase two?” he raised an eyebrow quizzically.

Hermione picked up the clothes she had stolen from the locker room and tossed them onto the bed. “Change into that. It took some looking, but I think they’ll fit you. We’re going to go out in disguise.”

Hermione turned around to give him and started gathering up her supplies and stuffing them back in her beaded bag. 

“Past the muggle aurors and the hospital guards?”

“Yes, I’ve got a plan for that too.” she answered over her shoulder. 

“I don’t know much about muggle law, but I am fairly confident that this is all illegal.”

“Oh, highly.” she admitted. Looking around Hermione found the plastic bag with what was left of Lucius’ personal effects and put that in her beaded bag. She had just finished gathering up the last of her vials and potions when Lucius spoke again.

“I think I’ve got it.”

Hermione turned around and her lips parted. _Sweet Merlin’s knitted socks…_ Wizard robes did absolutely nothing for this man, she realized as she tried not to stare at the trim figure cut in the slightly too tight dark blue scrubs. “Er… um. Yes. That’s right.” 

Hermione turned back to her cart blowing out a silent breath. _What is wrong with you, Hermione?_ She seized the surgeons cap and mask she’d found in a storage closet of laundry. “Here. You’re too recognizable and there’s going to be security cameras. Put this over your face and hide your hair under that.”

Hermione slipped her own mask on and dug out the last remaining trick up her sleeve, courtesy of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

“So, what exactly is the sequence of events in this plan of yours?” Lucius asked.

Hermione turned to explain and did a double take. Completely unrecognizable, nothing visible but his eyes, it was a surprising visage. “Apply decoy, don’t look suspicious, get out of the hospital, get to my car, don’t get caught.”

Lucius nodded once. “Alright.”

“Shall we, doctor?”

“Nurse.” he replied, gesturing.

Hermione closed her eyes in a silent prayer, her bag around her wrist, hand on the doorknob. She clutched the lump of black, sparkling powder in her hand, heart pounding. _Here goes nothing._ Taking a deep breath, Hermione opened the door and stepped into the hallway, the officers paying her little heed. Lucius waited, and with a flick of her wrist, she tossed the powder. Immediately the bright hallway plunged into thick tarry darkness.

The staff erupted around her as she grabbed Lucius’ hand and pulled him after her out of the room. 

_“What the hell was that?!”_

_“Did we lose power or am I having a stroke?”_

_“Get it back on-”_

_“Where are the generators -”_

_“No one move, its pitch black-”_

_“It's not the power, everything is still running.”_

_“Well then what the hell?!”_

Hermione walked hurriedly but carefully, maneuvering past confused muggles, going off her limited memory of the floor's layout, heart pounding. Finally, amid shouts and clatters of folders being knocked clumsily to the floor, her outstretched hand brushed the swinging metal doors and with a little fumbling she swiped the stolen keycard and the doors opened. Getting out and closing the door, Hermione blinked in the blindingly bright corridor, a passing male nurse pushing an older woman in a wheelchair looking at them curiously and then continuing his way as she and Lucius continued walking.

“I _cannot_ believe that worked.” Lucius confessed.

“Me either.” she agreed, her stomach quivering with adrenaline. “This is the sixth floor. We’ve got to go through a few more corridors and then down the lifts and through the lobby. Then we’re out.”  
Lucius followed Hermione as they walked in silence, and she glanced furtively at each wall directory they passed to double check that they were going the right way. Soon though, Hermione feared their luck was about to run out as she passed a hospital guard, listening at his walkie talkie. 

“What?” the man said. “Gone?”

 _Uh oh_

“Hey.” Hermione said out loud as they continued down the hall. “Uh...can you run?”

“Can _you_?” he asked skeptically, tossing a scathingly doubtful look at her.

“Yeah. I’m absolutely fine, they said.” she lied confidently.

“Then yes.” he replied. “Why?”

“Because I think we’re going to need to run.”

“STOP!”

Hermione seized Lucius’ hand at the shout from behind and took off running.

“Stop them!”

The two of them kept going, but it seemed their secret was out. She hadn’t really thought they’d have much time before the police realized the room was empty. The first guard was giving pursuit behind, calling for backup. “A man and a woman, dark hair, floor six, corridor b heading towards the lifts!”

Past confused and helplessly gawking nurses and staff, they ran. At the pursuing guards call, one worker tried to push an industrial mop bucket into the middle of the hallway. They evaded it just barely, Hermione backing into a cart of lunch trays as she spun around the bucket, sending the whole mess clattering to the floor. Lucius caught her arm as she stumbled her, righting her as they continued running.

“SORRY!” Hermione called behind her at the scowling, cursing woman standing in the middle of the wrecked food trays and dirty mop water, the security guard slowed in his chase temporarily as he hopped around the mess. 

Lucius and Hermione skidded to a halt as the hallway opened into a larger space in the middle, cafeteria on one side, lifts, and restrooms on the other. Down the main hall, three security guards had burst through the door and were running towards them, and behind them the single guard was making up ground quickly.

“This way.” Hermione said pulling him towards the stairs, the guards closing in.

“Wait!” Lucius said as an elevator opened and a muggle disembarked. She was about to object before she saw his intention. Reaching into the empty lift, he hit the down button and then backed out, kicking open the fire door but grabbing her arm and pulling her into the men’s room instead, closing the door quietly as the other slammed shut with an echoing thud.

Heart pounding, Hermione listened along with him, breathing heavily and silently as the guard’s footfalls grew closer and stopped. “They went down the lift! Take the stairs!”

The metal fire door was punched open again and they heard it slam, metallic footsteps descending and growing fainter.

“Quick thinking.” Hermione whispered as he peered out the door.

The coast momentarily clear they stepped back into the hallway. “Now which way.”

“There’s another stairwell this way.” Hermione answered and they took off at a jog. “Here.” They rounded the corner and went through the next door, taking the stairs two at a time. “They’re probably following us on security cameras, so we won’t have long.” she said in a rush as they reached the bottom. A single door with the words “alarm will sound” blazoned across it, let out onto a lawn and she could see the parking lot as well as her car. 

Hermione pointed out the slender window. “Front corner of that lot, that's where we have to get to. It's an enchanted car with muggle repelling charms so they won’t find us but first we have to get there. An alarm is going to go off so when I open this, so we have to move quickly. Ready?”

“Yes.” Lucius gasped. 

Shoving with both hands, Hermione pushed the door open. A high-pitched alarm began blaring, and they darted out the door and began the trek across the open field. She could hear shouting from the front of the building and as they came within view of the main entrance, she knew they’d been seen.

Hermione hit the button on her key fob and the locks popped open. “This one, this one!” she called in a rush and Lucius wrenched open the passenger door.

Safely inside the vehicle, doors closed, the pursuing officers darting around them in the parking lot oblivious and confused, the two of them collapsed back against the seats, gasping for air, pulling off caps and masks.

“Hey.” Hermione asked, leaning over to grip his arm, ignoring the cramping and aching in her belly. “Are you alright?!”

“Yes.” Lucius panted, trying to catch his breath, hand clutching his chest. “Though I don’t think that was in either of our recovery instructions.”

Hermione let out a breathless laugh of anxiousness. “No. No it was not.”

_Ron and the healers are going to kill me._

Hermione looked up in amused surprise as he suddenly doubled over in hysterical gasping laughter. She didn’t know which shocked her more; the sound itself emanating from this man, or the remarkable effect it had on his face. She’d seen a smirk, a sinister leer, soft smile, rueful dark chuckle perhaps, but this was entirely different.

“What is it?” she shook her head, laughing in confusion. 

Breathing deeply, Lucius sat back. “I do believe that is the single most ridiculous thing I’ve ever engaged in.”

Hermione grinned and started the car. “I can’t believe we made it.”

“And if we didn’t?”

“I’d be in jail and you’d be in a padded room.”

Lucius chuckled shortly and shook his head but then after seeming to think for a moment as she put the car in drive and backed out of the parking space. “You took a considerable risk, Hermione.” he said severely. “Both with your health and the law.”

“Well.” she said, “I couldn’t leave you there. But where should I take you?” 

“Home.” he answered wearily, dragging a hand through his now loose disheveled hair. “Crescent View Court in London. I have a townhouse there.” 

That wasn't very far from where she lived strangely enough. Perhaps a 15-minute drive from her and Ron's apartment building. How odd to think they had been so close all this time. But home wasn't what he needed unfortunately.

“Are you sure?” she worried.

“I'm going to be fine, Hermione.” he assured her. 

They fell into silence as she drove, and she must have had a terribly apprehensive look on her face for a few minutes later he asked. “What is it?”

“We have to fly.”

“Come again?”

She sighed. “I have to put this in the air. Otherwise we’ll be driving forever.”

“Do what you must.” he said unconcernedly.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut tightly, palms sweating, heart racing. _Ok. You’ve already done it, you can do it now_. Swallowing hard she turned the necessary dials and levers and with a shuddering start they were airborne.

Lucius seemed completely nonplussed but was watching her curiously. 

“Ohh. Oh ok.” she panted nervously. “It's fine. It works. Breathe. Hee hee hoo! Hee hee hoo! Hee hee-”

“What the devil are you doing?” Lucius asked her, eyebrows raised.

“Trying not to hyperventilate,” she explained in a rush. “I really _really_ hate flying.”

“Oh, good gods above.” he drawled, raising a hand to his temple. “You know _how_ to fly it right?”

“Yeah. Of course.” she said. “Ok. So, this car was a gift from Ron’s father, and I trust you’ll be appropriately pleased not to be in jail and _not_ report this to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Division. Second offense might not be as easily forgiven.”

He snorted. “You mean the department Weasley _runs_? I’ll try to restrain myself.”

The engine gave a violent shudder and she gave a short scream, squeezing her eyes shut and gripping the steering wheel tighter. 

“There are emergency measures on this contraption are there not?” he asked, his voice betraying the first thing of mildly concerned suspicion.

“Yes, but I’d prefer not to have to use them.” she groaned.

“Granted…” he said, “On the bright side, our chances of encountering a truck to crash into or muggles with explosive projectiles up here are minimal.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Explosive proje—oh.” She laughed. “That’s true.”

He smiled at her and Hermione felt the tension fleeing her body. He spoke to her, distracting her from the anxiety of flight. They talked about Rose, about that fact she had not precisely told anyone what she was doing today, she even managed to coax him into talking a bit more about Draco. But soon they fell into silence that she found strangely companionable rather than awkward and before she knew it she could see London and landed the flying car without incident. 

She realized as she navigated the traffic and continued towards her destination that she'd been gone for quite a few hours and guilt set in. Surely, she was noticed to be gone now and she wondered again if maybe she should have at least left a note of her intentions after all.

_And had them show up with a team of aurors to drag you back? No._

Hermione’s internal thoughts were broken by Lucius as he spoke.

“I think we should make a few things clear, Hermione.”

Something in his tone gave her pause and she turned towards him briefly in expectation. “Ok.”

“I… I appreciate your returning to liberate me from that place.” he said, staring ahead rather stiffly. “But I do not expect anything from you.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what she thought he was going to say but something tugged in her breast as he spoke. 

“By that I mean, I don’t intend to hold you to any archaic oaths of service. I regret much of what I have done in my life and I consider it a small measure of atonement.”

She feigned shock and outrage, hand at her throat. “Lucius Malfoy with no ulterior motive?”

“It's been known to happen.” he smirked. “Don’t tell anyone, I _do_ have an image to maintain.”

“Your secret is safe.” she grinned. “The thing is I do believe you. Because even though you tried to hide it under indifference, I could see it. Your fear was real. Your shock and sadness when…” she shuddered. “When she was born and wasn’t breathing. That was real. Your relief when she cried was real.” She laughed. “You were thoroughly traumatized by the whole experience; I don’t think I'd completely blame you for wanting to seek some sort of recompense or revenge. You’ve done what few wizards have ever had to do…”

“I... did very little for you, I'm afraid.” he said quietly. “The work was yours.”

Hermione impulsively reached over the console and took his hand in hers. “You kept me focused and you made me feel as safe as you could. That was everything.”

She had not immediately realized what she had done until he looked over at her, a surprised look in his eyes. She had done it before, taken his hand to reassure him in his drug hazed, pain induced delirium, to guide him along their escape route, touched him briefly in thanks… but this was quite different and her cheeks burned as she briefly met his eyes. 

Hermione swallowed and cleared her throat quietly as she released his hand to reach up and turn on her signal. They had reached the neighborhood he’d mentioned, and she drove into a quiet cul-de-sac as he gestured and she pulled the car to a stop in front of a stately brick townhouse with a small front yard.

“This is where you live?” she asked curiously, putting the car in park and turning it off. 

“Yes. Though it didn’t always used to be just me.” he told her opening the door and climbing out.  
Hermione got out of the car and stepped out onto the sidewalk, but the motion of standing seemed to cause an objection in her body. She swayed uncomfortably, a wave of nausea catching her off guard.

“Hermione?” she heard Lucius ask, walking around the front of the car.

Gripping the hood of her car she waved a hand dismissively. “Fine… fine… Think I stood up too fast. Mmm." She bit her lip as a sharp cramp knifed through her belly and she clutched her stomach. She hadn't even realized she was falling until Lucius leapt forward, his arms coming around her to break her fall before she could hit the sidewalk. 

“Hermione?!”

She opened her eyes, seeing the mildly panicked look on his face as he touched her chin, his arm under her shoulders. 

“I’m... I’m ok.” she insisted. “Just got a bit dizzy. I’m fine.”

The look of concern turned to suspicion, which soon hardened into exasperation. “You were most certainly not able to do this. This was far too much...”

Hermione winced, the sunlight she was staring up into past Lucius’ face worsening the headache that had been nagging her. “I... might have lied a tiny bit.” She moaned, closing her eyes.

“Right then.” he replied sharply with a huff. “Back to St Mungoes.” 

“Ohh.” she grumbled, hand on her forehead, shutting her eyes tight against the light and another wave of nausea. She was going to be in so much trouble. 

Hermione gave a disoriented squeal as she felt herself being lifted into the air. “No! No, wait, Lucius, you can’t!” she said in a mild panic as he walked her up the sidewalk towards the door. “You can’t carry me, you’re hurt –”

“Thanks to your potions, I’m feeling very little of it, and you just collapsed from standing up. You’re _not_ walking.” He ignored her and climbed the short trio of steps, the townhouse door swinging open at his approach in recognition. “And you’re bleeding again.”

“I am?” she asked, genuinely perplexed. 

“Yes, on the seat of the car, now hush.”

Hermione tried to ignore that alarmingly humiliating observation and caution him. “Lucius, you could do more damage, the potions need time, you were _shot_!” Hermione argued as they moved through the house. 

“Yes and given how unpleasant that experience was let’s make sure it wasn’t in vain, shall we?” he retorted. “I’d hate to go through all of that just to have you collapse in my front yard in a rescue attempt.” He came to a stop at a large white stone fireplace. “If you please, Ms. Granger?”

Hermione reached out and grabbed a handful of floo powder from the jar on the mantle. “St. Mungoes.” she said with a defeated sigh.

As they stepped through the green flames, Hermione held securely in Lucius’ arms she was expecting a certain muted stir. A few odd looks from patrons, a raised eyebrow and a stern tongue lashing from the receptionist. She was _not_ expecting the absolute pandemonium waiting as they stepped into the lobby…

There were not many patients waiting, but Ron, Harry, Ginny, their son James, were...

An argument was ensuing, heated and animated, the receptionist, her healer from upstairs and the dowdy assistant director she had spoken to the other day all trying to diffuse the tension.

“I can’t let you up because _she is not there_!” the receptionist said irritably, “Your daughter is in the nursery you may go there directly but I cannot let you search the patient wards!”

“Yeah we heard you the first time!” Ron snapped. “She’s not there! We’re trying to figure out where she went--”

“How does a patient just vanish from your hospital?!” Harry demanded.

“Where is she?” Ron asked hotly.

“I told you, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley! We don’t know _where_ she went!” Healer Miller entreated, “Or _how_ she left.”

“Uh… I’m here.” Hermione said awkwardly, waving her hand. “Hi.”

Everyone in the room stopped speaking, turning on the spot and gaping at her and Lucius in stupefied, dumbfounded shock. She was aware of just how they must appear. Lucius Malfoy, dressed in muggle surgeons’ scrubs, hair disheveled, Hermione in her nurse’s uniform and equally as disheveled, cradled in his arms in a bridal carry, her arm around his neck.

“Well.” Lucius announced to the hospital staff and her silent, onlooking friends with something akin to a smile. “I expect this probably looks a bit… odd.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. O_O


	15. Coming Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fall out is swift from their arrival at St. Mungo’s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so wonderful. The comments, the kudos, the subscribers, the quiet readers, you’re all amazing.

_“Hands, put your empty hands in mine.  
And scars, show me all the scars you hide.  
And hey, if your wings are broken.  
Please take mine so yours can open too.  
'Cause I'm gonna stand by you.”_  
**Stand By You, by Rachel Platten**

The pervasive silence didn’t last long before everyone in the room began talking at once. Questions, accusations, demands and scoldings from every direction. Was it a long time or just felt that way? Hermione raised her fingertips to her temples and squeezed, and with some alarm felt Lucius’ body beginning to weaken. 

Ron, red faced and sputtering, drew his wand and Harry leapt forward grabbing his wrist. “Ron, stop! What are you going to do, curse him while he’s _holding_ her?!”

“Everyone stop!” the healer shouted. “No one move. You.” She pointed at Lucius. “Speak. What’s the meaning of this?”

Hermione had to give him credit. Even exhausted, injured, dressed as a muggle and beginning to slacken under the exertion of carrying her through his house and here, he still managed to look regally expectant and condescending.

“She is dizzy, unsteady and faint, and while not a heavy burden, I confess my strength spent. So, if there is perhaps somewhere that I can put her where she can be seen to properly?” he asked, eyebrow raised. “Or are we going to continue to stand here awkwardly until we collapse, while she regresses into another hemorrhage?”

Duly chastised, the stunned healers launched into action, one moving a floating cot over to them and the other, the Ms. Miller from upstairs, making ready to perform diagnostic spells, directing everyone else to stay back as Lucius lowered her onto the bed.

“I’m fine, really.” Hermione insisted. “There’s no need-“

“Hush.” Lucius cut her off. “She was dizzy and then fainted.”

Hermione scowled at him.

“Did she hit her head when she fainted?” the other one asked.

“No. She did not fully lose consciousness.”

“Really, I just got up too quickly.” She told them, looking between them all. “I was dizzy that’s all. And some… nausea and pain.”

“And bleeding.” he added.

“Traitor!” she said hotly.

The healer looked at her disapprovingly. “We will be diligently looking you over to be sure.” she clucked her tongue irritably, “Running out of hospital mid treatment! I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

Lucius looked down at her, eyebrow raised, bracing his hands on the cot.

“Alright, I lied twice.” She grumbled.

With a deep sigh Lucius straightened but Hermione caught movement out of her peripheral view. Ron had lunged forward, and Harry grabbed him again, toppling a wooden table by the chairs. 

“What did you do, bastard?!” Ron shouted.

“Ron, don’t!” Hermione cried out in outrage.

“Calm yourself or be removed!” the director Madam Pershing ordered, jabbing her wand for emphasis. 

“What did you do?!” Ron repeated hotly, still struggling with Harry as Ginny stood shell-shocked holding an intrigued but otherwise unaffected baby James.

Lucius, for his part, surveyed the display calmly. “Not my story to tell.” he declared coldly. And with that tone of finality, he looked back down at her, eyes softening in concern. “I’m not helping you here. I’ll go.”

“I think that’s best.” Pershing said coldly as the healer finished her spells and directed Hermione to be taken upstairs.

Lucius turned to leave but Hermione, in an unwise moment of panic, seized his wrist. “Wait! You can’t!”  
Alarmed by her anxiety and her attempts to sit up and rise from the cot, Ron and the healer stepped forward to stop her, one of the other healers physically pulling her hand from Lucius’ wrist.

“No, wait!” Hermione argued, fighting against the people trying to placate and speak soothingly toned nonsense to her as if she were an unruly child objecting to her medicine. “You can’t leave!” Hermione looked up desperately at her own healer, maybe she could appeal to her! “He can’t leave, please he was shot in the back, I only did --” 

The healer clearly had no idea what she was referring to and extended a calming draught to her.

“No!” Hermione argued angrily as Ron and the healer kept pushing her back against the cot. “I don’t need - look, listen to me!! He needs medical attention, for gods sake - GET OFF!”

But she was suddenly aware that Lucius had come back. His hand was on hers and she looked up in surprise, the healer gaping, director scowling, Ron turning purple as Lucius knelt down to be eye level with her, cutting through the chaos, holding her hand the same reassuring way he did back in the woods…

“Hermione.” he said gently but firmly. “ _Thank you_ for coming back for me. I cannot tell you what your intervention meant. But I’m going to be fine. I have it from here. Relax and let them look after you. Waste no more of your health and energy on me.”

Hermione swallowed and nodded. Yes, her emotional state was getting the best of her. He was right. He was a capable man and now he was free, captivity had been his greatest hindrance. He was steady, well on the way to healing, nothing that a few more potions couldn’t finish off, and stronger. She was being silly.  
He nodded once and gave her hand the barest squeeze before standing swiftly and disappearing across the lobby and into the floo.

“Are we just going to let him go?!” Ron demanded.

“As opposed to what?” Harry challenged. “What exactly am I arresting him for, Ron?”

“What the bloody hell is going on?!” Ron asked Hermione with clenched teeth.

“Ok, stop talking” Ginny said, holding her hand up. “The first thing that’s happening is Hermione is getting tended to.”

The healers wholeheartedly agreed and at the snap of Healer Miller’s fingers, two assistants came forward to take Hermione on her cot upstairs to the floor she had been convalescing on previously. Madam Director Pershing however had procedural questions, to which Ms. Miller snapped unequivocally. “Not now!” leaving the older matronly woman sputtering silently in a huff in the corner waiting for the healers to be finished. 

“I told you the potions needed time to work.” Healer Miller scolded her after she was back snug in a bed. “You could have been healed already, now you need extra doses. I told you about the tearing, and the concussion, which now appears worse. You used magic, didn’t you?”

“Only a bit of wandless magic to unlock something.”

“That’s even worse!” the healer fumed. “Wandless magic, what were you thinking. Even with magical remedies, childbirth is a major event and you need rest, to say nothing of the accident--”

Hermione knew she’d made herself a nuisance in this regard, but she had judged it necessary and still felt no regret. Still she understood the healers’ point of view and so took her scolding without complaint, taking the potions she was handed quietly.

Having a few moments to collect herself, breathe and rehearse what she was going to say in her head in several different ways, she laid her head back against the pillows and tried to relax. She’d done it. She’d succeeded in what she had set out to do. Lucius was free and he was going to be alright. They were all _finally_ alright, where they belonged and could go on with their recovery. 

Suddenly she heard voices, hushed and furtive, and then Ginny’s clearer than the others. “No. You’re waiting here; I’m going in first. To make sure she’s ready.”

Ron said something unintelligible and then there was the unmistakable sound of a hand cracking against a skull an oof then moments later Ginny peeked in.

“Hi Hermione.”

“Ginny.” Hermione straightened and sat up in the bed. 

James was evidently waiting with Harry as her very pregnant friend moved into the space without the toddler and sat down on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Hermione said, “But Ginny, you shouldn’t be here, you and the baby don’t need the stress and with only a few months to go...”

“I could hear Ron yelling through the whole house,” she shrugged, “So it was going to be more stressful to stay and now I see with my own eyes that you’re fine.”

Hermione flushed with genuine remorse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause such a fuss.”

Ginny smirked. “Yes, you did. I saw the look. You meant to cause one _hell_ of a fuss. Just not for us.”

Hermione bit back a smile. “Alright, guilty. I had hoped I could get back before Ron and Harry noticed…”

“And I want to hear all about it.” Ginny gestured in the general direction of the lobby. “No detail spared because _that_ … was bloody hilarious.”

Feeling worlds lighter, Hermione laughed breathlessly. “I suppose it was.”

“But… there are questions.”

Hermione sighed and nodded. “I know.”

“Ready?” Ginny grimaced.

“As I’m going to be.” Hermione responded.

Ginny stood and pulled back the curtain with a jerk. “Alright. But remember what I said!”

Hermione raised an eyebrow curiously wondering just how much the redhead had to say to her husband and brother before they’d been brought up. Harry approached holding James’ hand as the toddler waddled in, with his other hand in his pockets with a look and gait as if he were deliberately attempting to appear relaxed and nonchalant but it only came out as a slightly amusing look of sitting on a particularly sharp quill. Ron had his fists clenched and his face was a blotchy shade of red, lips pressed thin.

“Hermione.” Harry said nodding slowly. “How are you?”

“I’m fine Harry. Really.” she assured him. 

An awkward silence fell as Harry shifted uncomfortably, Ron seethed, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Oh, for Godric’s sake-” Ginny breathed in exasperation.

Ron and Harry spoke in a rush at the same time.

“Why did you leave--”

“What were you doing with Malfoy--”

Ginny took James by the hand and cast a silencing charm around his head in anticipation.

Hermione sighed and folded her hands in her lap calmly. “Alright. I know this is strange. But the seriously injured wizard I’ve been trying to get help for. The one who was in the hospital I was in… That was Lucius. And they refused to help him, and Draco wouldn’t go, so I… I went.”

The three of them retained silent, looking at her with everything from furrowed brow to open shock.  
“Ok.” Harry said, nodding slowly, trying to process it. “And you felt the need to do this, why?”

“Well. He was really bad off. Shot, with a gun, in the back.” she explained. “He had no family who would intervene, and he was wandless. I was worried he’d do something, or hurt himself, or his injuries would get worse and he’d die--”

Ron finally spoke, interjecting loudly. “Yeah ok, we get that but why--”

“Ahh!” Ginny said warningly, raising her finger. “What did I say?!”

Ron swallowed down whatever he was going to say, clearing his throat, jaw working irritably. When he spoke again his tone was quieter and forcibly measured. “But why would you care? Enough to leave your hospital bed, leave our daughter, and get yourself in trouble again, I mean… he had to carry you in here, bleeding, you apparently fainted, and you risked all that for him?”

“Well, in my defense I wasn’t expecting to have to run from muggle police!” she scowled, crossing her arms.

Harry threw his hands out. “The police?!” he repeated loudly.

Ron rubbed his temples aggressively. “Oh, merlin’s fucking socks…”

Ginny however glowed with pride, wagging a finger. “Oh, I’m definitely coming over for wine and television when you’re feeling better."

“He was sectioned, alright!” Hermione insisted, “I knew he was being kept there against his will, knew he didn't understand muggles or what they were doing, and so I went to help. And it was mad, I mean they had him strapped to a bed and were trying to sedate him and put him on gods only know what! And thanks to me, the ministry knew he was trapped and defenseless. I _had_ to go!”

A fifth person cleared their throat and Hermione rolled her eyes, forgetting about the sour faced Madam Pershing who was still waiting to ask her own questions. “I should inform you Ms. Granger that interfering with the due process of muggle governing agencies is a violation of –“

“Oh, stuff it you hateful cow!” Hermione snapped. “Go ahead and report me! Have me arrested! I'd love to get in front of the Wizengamot to explain myself. It'll be highly publicized don't you think.” the director looked shocked and then her eyes shifted uncomfortably, and Hermione went for the kill. “Yes, that would be good. I think I’ll do that. Expose to the public that the supposed _new, reformed, and incorruptible_ ministry is still picking and choosing what rules it wants to follow. Can't wait to see how _that_ goes over with a jumpy mistrustful society _regardless_ of who it's about!”

“Well…” Madam Pershing raised her chin. “Maybe it can… be overlooked.”

“Yeah.” she bit with narrowed eyes as the older woman turned and left, cheeks burning.

“Might do it anyway.” She grumbled.

Surprised into a temporary stillness by her brief tirade, Ron and Harry stared at her with slack, confused expressions. “So, you broke the law for him too?” Ron asked hostility. “You really were going to risk all that? Which brings me back to the question; _Why_?!”

“I…” Hermione huffed. “I care because he… he was the one.”

They stared at her blankly. “The _one_ , what?” Harry asked.

Hermione swallowed, knowing this was going to be the difficult part. “He found me in the woods. He… rescued me and helped Rose.”

Harry went from blank obtuseness, to confusion to open mouthed shock, Ginny’s lips formed a silent “O” as if all the puzzle pieces clicked into place at once, and Ron looked like he was going to be sick. 

“Lucius Malfoy... delivered our baby?!” Ron breathed.

Ron’s statement shook Harry out of his stupor, and he turned paler than he had looked before. “God that entire sentence just sounds weird.” he grimaced. 

“How?” Ginny asked, and then shook her head. “I mean, I know how, I’m not talking mechanics, I just mean… what deity did you piss off and what stars had to be in place for Lucius Malfoy to be the one to find you in some random patch of woods while you were in labor and delirious from a head injury?”

“It's a long story.” Hermione ran a hand through her hair nervously. “He was looking for Draco, he knew he had been on the train and that it crashed. He had no wand, so he couldn’t summon help, so he stayed with me, and he… he delivered Rose. And when she wasn’t breathing it was him who revived her.”

“LUCIUS MALFOY DELIVERED OUR BABY?!” Ron fumed, evidently missing the point. “I… how… how could you let him do that?! With who he is, and what he’s done how could you --”

“I didn’t have a _choice_ Ron!” Hermione insisted angrily. “Do you think I had options? Neither one of us knew what to do! Send him for help? Stay? I was in labor! I had no idea if it would happen quickly. If there would be time for him to get back to us. I was desperate and terrified. I asked him to stay and he did. I asked him to take Rose and run and get help for her after she was born, and he said he would.”

Ron still looked shell shocked. “He… he saw you, like _that_ , he… he _touched_ you--”

Hermione scoffed in irritation. “Ron? I was a little busy trying to push a human being out of my body, and Lucius was busy pretending not to be panicking. It was not even _remotely_ sexual.”

Ron scowled. “Well, yeah… I know that! But… still!”

“Is this really the thing to focus on?!” Hermione demanded, temper rising.

“Ok, ok.” Ginny interjected as Ron opened his mouth again, waving her hands wildly. “The important thing is Hermione and Rose are alright.” she said. “ _Whoever_ is the one who made that happen, it doesn’t matter. _They_ are ok.”

“Right.” Harry said, blinking rapidly with the influx of information. “Ok. So how did we get from Rose being born to you breaking him out of a muggle hospital and fleeing police?”

Hermione nodded. “After she was born, and he got her breathing again… we were just there. In shock. He laid Rose in my arms, I was trying to feed her we were talking about the next move and…” she swallowed, the horror of those moments between Rose’s birth, her unresponsiveness and the shooting coming back in vivid detail. “There was this muggle hunter, he heard the screaming and saw the blood and thought… I don’t know that Lucius was attacking me or something, confused him for someone they'd seen in the area before, and... and he shot him.”

Hermione closed her eyes. The sound of the firing, the smell of the powder… the blood… so much blood…  
“And Lucius went down,” she continued. “And I passed out and that's the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital. I found Lucius and he had surgery to fix the damage and it was only because he helped me that he was in that position.” she looked up at Ron who was refusing to meet her eyes, desperate to make him understand. “Do you at least see why I couldn’t just leave him there?”

“One act of decency doesn’t undo a lifetime of bad decisions.” Ron snapped. “You should have left him there.”

“Ron--”

“I’m going to go get Rose.” he said shortly and stood up to leave. 

Hermione leaned back in bed with a sigh as Ron vanished. Ginny and Harry exchanged a look, and Ginny picked up James. “Ok. I’m going to go and get James down for his nap.” the redhead reached out and took Hermione’s hand. “I’ll come check on you when you’re settled at home ok?”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you, Ginny.”

Alone with Harry, silence stretched between them for a few moments as Harry stood staring at the floor, arms folded.

“Harry are you angry?”

Harry scoffed as if it should be obvious. “Yeah, I am! I’m furious! I hate that you were within fifty yards of him, wand or no wand! I don’t trust him! But I mean…” he kicked at nothing on the floor. “If it's true what he did for you, I’m… I’m grateful. And I get it. But why didn’t you come to me?”

Hermione looked up in surprise.

“Look. I know I wasn’t always the greatest friend. I didn’t stand up for you every time I should have. But you’re one of my best friends. You stuck by me through absolutely everything. And I'd never have gone for Malfoy’s sake, but I’d have gone for _yours_.”

Hermione fell silent, worrying the fabric of her bedsheets between her fingers.

Harry huffed and strode forward, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “You’ve been through a lot and I don’t expect all your cauldrons to be simmering. But Hermione... I’m an Auror. I’d have gotten him out. You didn’t have to put yourself at risk.”

“Really?” she challenged, skeptically. “You'd have gone to rescue Lucius Malfoy from a muggle hospital?”

“If _you_ asked me to.” Harry insisted, “Yes, in a blink.”

Hermione sighed. “I reported it to St. Mungoes, accidental magic, and the Auror office, and about a dozen others. They all said no. And as your own supervisor was one of the stronger and less polite ‘sorry, no’ responses, I didn’t want you to get into trouble. It was my problem not yours.”

“Since when has that mattered?” Harry retorted incredulously.

“I didn’t know what would happen. I didn't really know if I could trust Lucius, but I knew I had no choice. And he came through for me, and almost died in the process. I _had_ to come through for _him_.”

“I know.” Harry sighed. “because you’re you. and to be honest. I kind of get why you didn’t want Ron to find out. He can get temperamental and jealous and petty but once he gets over the shock of it being… you know… Malfoy… he’ll come around and just be glad you're ok.”

“Thanks.” she said quietly.

Harry smirked and ran a hand through his already perpetually messy hair. “I know you, ok? You’re driven and passionate, and once you’ve decided on something there’s no stopping you. But next time… just… trust me, to trust you?”

Hermione bit her lip, grateful tears springing to her eyes as she nodded, and Harry squeezed her hand tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I'm sorry if you notice the occasional spacing issue. I'm aware of it and have tried everything to fix it. I don't know if its a Word problem or the html but some lines just will not separate no matter what I do. Sorry!


	16. Never Promised You a Rose Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione discovers Lucius isn’t as well as she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter, sorry. (Or not sorry depending on how you like your chapters) Some back story and lead up, and then more Hermione and Lucius. I will always try to reward you for enduring necessary story development lol. 😊
> 
> Also, I’m sorry to get personal here for a minute, but I recently found out I’m pregnant and morning (all day) sickness is kicking me hard this go round. My goal is still an update every 1-2 weeks but asking preemptively for your patience and understanding if things get difficult.

_“Who will be there for you?  
Comfort and care for you?  
Learn to be lonely.  
Learn to be your one companion.  
Never dreamed out in the world, there are arms to hold you.  
You've always known,  
Your heart was on its own.”  
**Learn to Be Lonely,** Minnie Driver, Andrew Lloyd Webber_

**4 June 2000**

Hermione had been relieved to the point of tears to be discharged and told she could go home. It had only been the day after her daring escape from the muggle hospital with Lucius, but it had felt like an eternity. Ron was still furious, she could tell by the way she caught him brooding at times, but at least for now while she recovered and they got used to being home with Rose, he swallowed it and didn’t try to argue with her about it. 

She knew he was upset that she didn’t tell him the truth, but at this point, she knew Ron and knew he’d never have been able to deal with it like Harry, even though she hadn’t told their friend either. She also knew she’d never get Ron to understand why she’d made the decisions she did, so she didn’t try. It would bring more grief and frustration to plead her case. After all, though desperation and necessity had seemingly evaporated what should have been insurmountable tension and difficulty between her and Lucius, she tried to remind herself that Harry and Ron hadn’t had that transformative experience.

So instead she focused on finding a routine with Rose, so far as it was possible to find a routine with a newborn. Rose was surprisingly well adjusted, happy and content and Hermione counted herself fortunately over the next week that aside from hungry nighttime wakings, she did not fuss or cry overly much. She enjoyed being in her bassinet under the window of their flat, the children’s healer only smiled and declared it was because her first breaths were in the open under the sunshine. It was a bit too new age, spirituality or Trelawney-sounding for Hermione but lately she was beginning to think anything was possible.

It had not been a terrible week, but it came with its challenges. Nightmares plagued her of her lengthy ordeal, which only seemed to trigger nightmares of things she had thought long since passed. Dreamless sleep impeded her care of Rose, so she stuck to calming draughts, which were only minimally effective. Because of Rose’s rough entrance to the world, the healers wished to see her back every two weeks for a while to be sure she was growing and developing properly, visits which at least set her mind at ease on her daughter’s wellbeing and Hermione herself had a few follow ups to endure. She had still been forbidden from magic or strenuous activity for another week, but she managed. Ron did any spells they needed, and she kept her wand that Ron and Harry had finally found tucked safely in a drawer and inaccessible to avoid the temptation. 

Finally, just under two weeks later, well into the beginning of June, she was given a long awaited “all clear”. No more potions, no more restrictions and she could go back to nursing Rose free of medications. It should have made her ecstatic but honestly it only made her feel drained as the weight was lifted from her mind. Returning home from her last check up, settling Rose in for a nap, she happily flopped face down in the white covers of their fluffy bed with a tired breath. As she buried her face in the pillows, Hermione could instantly tell Ron had washed the sheets and bed covers because they smelled like nothing. It was one of their friendlier, more playful fights; Hermione preferred a good old-fashioned muggle laundering for clothes and linens, Ron didn’t see the point of not just using a _scourgify_ charm. But seeing as it was one of the few things, he ever thought to clean she wasn’t about to dissuade him. 

With a silent sigh so as not to wake the peacefully slumbering baby, Hermione turned onto her back to stare at the ceiling, her hands laced over her belly. She wasn’t perfect. She didn’t always have it together. She could be shite at improvising and she sometimes didn’t see the forest for the tree she honed in on. But in all her musings on things like marriage and committed relationships she knew it wasn’t the proverbial rose garden, that there were thorns aplenty to be had. She had anticipated fights about work hours, and chore division, whose job it was to clean up the supper dishes and leaving cosmetics on the sink or socks on the floor next to the hamper. She hadn’t expected such basic fundamental things to cause such problems.

The drama over her decision to help Lucius and Ron’s general huffiness about his lack of inclusion in said decision only served to stir up the things that had been bothering her the day she’d boarded the ill-fated train to Glasgow. Rose was two weeks old and they were already fighting over when she was going back to work. Which was ridiculous because she had three months of leave granted to her and she planned to take all of it anyway, but she didn't dare take more especially since her supervisor had automatically assumed, she was resigning. 

Deep sigh.

She had always known the wizarding world to be a bit… stuck… in a certain time period when it came to some things. But she’d quickly realized there were certain expectations for women of her situation - expectations she stubbornly continued to flout. She should have realized it, honestly. She didn’t know too many working mothers in this world, the women she did know all had grown children or had never had them, only adding to the seemingly pervasive and entrenched stereotype about career women.

She hated going anywhere anymore. The whispers, the looks, like she was some exotic bit of foliage or fascinating piece of foreign artwork. Maybe now that she wasn’t so obviously heavily pregnant it would ease up. She was hardly the first woman to have an unplanned baby, but she’d soon discovered that it was less raised eyebrows over the pregnancy and more so over what didn’t occur after it.

People had seized hold of life with a fervor after the end of the war. She’d been to more weddings, engagement parties, and naming ceremonies than she could count. Some like Luna were traveling. Some returned to Hogwarts like she had. Some took the offered “out” and honorary graduation going on to jobs, families and hard-won careers. Even her own circle had carpe diemed the hell out of their opportunities. Faced with so many reminders of how fleeting life was, Harry and Ginny married quickly after her graduation and almost immediately welcomed their unintentional but warmly anticipated honeymoon baby James Sirius, and now lovingly expecting Albus Severus.

Dean Thomas and Padma Patil had moved in together as had Hannah Abbot and Neville, so she and Ron were hardly the only ones. Especially with the wizarding world still on the mend “shacking up” was easier and cheaper for most people. Especially with so many injured, orphaned, and widowed, those out of jobs, out of wands or homes and livelihoods destroyed. But she was the only one she knew of who ended up getting pregnant _without_ a ring on her finger before or shortly after. Maybe in decades. She hadn’t immediately thought anything of it. It happened. This was the 20th century after all. But apparently getting a witch pregnant in the wizarding world was tantamount to a marriage announcement. She reflected on the overly exuberant congratulations, speculative gossip in the papers the minute she began showing, Molly arriving at the flat with wedding plans a mere day after the family baby announcement and sickly sweet tributes in the tabloids and social pages of the Prophets to her and Ron’s “timeless love”. She hadn’t reacted well.

Hermione had paid dearly in emotional tolls for her decision not to accept Ron’s proposal right away. He had asked her to marry him before the pregnancy test had even dried. Blurted it awkwardly in the middle of their bathroom while they were sitting on the toilet and the edge of the tub.

“ _No_!” She’d said a bit more harsh than she’d intended for which she’d apologized profusely for injuring him, but Ron had been very “Ron” about it, huffing off and giving her the silent treatment the rest of the day before they went to a graduation party Susan and Neville were hosting for the “eighth years” where he got drunk and made snide comments about commitment all evening.

It took two solid weeks of moping and scowling before Ron accepted her refusal wasn’t because she didn’t love him or even because she could never see them getting married. Just that rushing into marriage because she got pregnant seemed like a bad idea. And given how often he brought up her refusal in arguments since then, she didn’t think he _had_ accepted it. Not really. When he finally spoke to her again without fuming and she could tell him she didn’t know if she was ready to marry him and the reason, he was less than understanding. She knew he was only asking right now because of the baby, a point he strongly disagreed on.

“ _Everyone knows we’re getting married eventually._ ” He replied hotly. “ _Seemed like as good a time as any to ask_.”

A response which had only made her angrier. Everyone knew, did they? And he agreed with the sentiment, obviously. Like it was just a foregone conclusion and that she was a spectator in or an extra with a part to play in someone else's larger saga. Not her own person with her own wants and desires and fears and uncertainty. A prop. 

But Hermione couldn’t blame him for assuming, could she? It seemed the whole wizarding world assumed it as well. When it became known Hermione was expecting and that an engagement announcement was not forthcoming the gossip columns had gone on the attack. She had not been prepared for just how much negative attention she was going to get. _No Wedding Bells for Muggleborn Mum-to-Be. Faithful Weasley Left Heartbroken: Has She Been Stringing Him Along This Whole Time? Weasley is Still Our King: Time for a New Queen?_ She knew most of it was just tabloid nastiness. Columns and mean-spirited editorials from bitter or jealous harpies, she could handle. Pictures run everywhere, howlers and hate mail from Ron’s loyal and slightly neurotic fans not so much. Whispered hisses of whore and slag and distasteful looks whenever she was out alone had become a staple. As well as frequent articles and “inside information” that maybe the baby wasn’t his at all, and that’s the real reason she didn’t say yes. She had apparently ruined the fairy tale fantasy of the majority of the wizarding world, as if it wasn’t _her_ life.

It didn’t help that any time the topic came up around Ron his standard reply to why they weren’t getting married was “ _I asked. She said no_.” which was now public knowledge and that only increased the heat. Because how could anyone _not_ say yes to war hero heartthrob Ronald Weasley? Something _had_ to be wrong with her.

She had never told Ron this… but before the pregnancy test, she had been considering breaking things off and asking Ron to live somewhere else entirely. Much as she loved and adored him much as she had wanted a relationship with him… living together had only seemed to bring out the worst of them and highlighted all the reasons they never should have gotten together in the first place. She feared the spark had quite died between them. But now it felt too late. It wasn’t just about her anymore, it was about her little girl. She owed it to her daughter, to try and find that spark again, didn’t she?

She worked on this by trying to focus on the positive things. The little aspects of life with Ron that had made her fall in love with him to begin with. He was capable of being so thoughtful and sweet. Coming to ride with her in the ambulance to St. Mungoes. Hiring a maid to make sure the apartment was cleaned to her standards for when she got out of the hospital. Seeing that all of the baby furniture and equipment was unpacked and put away properly, a task Molly and Ginny were all too happy to help with. He’d even made sure the pantry and fridge were stocked with all her favorite snacks so she wouldn’t have to cook for herself whenever Ron had to leave for the office. He’d even charmed a caddy by the rocker in the living room to refill nappies and automatically clean bottles and soothers, so she didn't have to get up when she was feeding or holding Rose. 

It could be difficult to remain frustrated with him when he truly _could_ be wonderful. When it was good, it was good. Hermione supposed that would have to be enough. After all, plenty of people had it worse, didn’t they? She was just being stupid and selfish… Nothing could be perfect. Good was good enough...

Deciding that was quite enough lounging and hopeless reflection, Hermione quietly sat up, slipped her shoes off and padded silently across the soft carpeted bedroom and crept out of the room. Everyone had told her “rest when the baby rests” but it had only taken Hermione days to realize that wasn’t going to work for her. Maybe it was because she felt like she had been doing nothing _but_ resting as of late, but she needed to do something useful with the bit of quiet that Rose’s naps afforded her. 

Hermione surveyed their small but comfortable flat. Cream colored walls, white accents and curtains covering sunny windows. A small decorative fireplace in the den under the telly on the wall had been converted and linked to the floo. Comfortable couches and armchairs and a generous number of pinewood bookshelves made the space ideal for reading while Ron watched muggle programs, and she smiled, already envisioning many nights of Rose playing with Crookshanks on the round woven rug. Resting in her large cage, blinking disinterestedly at Hermione was their petite barn owl, Pidgen. 

Beyond the den were the bedroom they had made into the nursery, a spare room they used as an office, small laundry space in the hallway, the bathroom and a kitchen, modern and sleek with a small dining space and china cabinet built into the wall beyond the half wall divider. The table was small, big enough only for four, but that was the benefit of magic. A few charms and there was plenty of space for their friends when they visited, and there was no such thing as “not enough storage space” when you had a wand.

But Hermione’s favorite place was on the other side of the dining table and she went to it eagerly. A small terrace opening from double French doors. She had placed comfortable, cushioned lawn chairs and a white wrought iron table among the deck plants and hurricane lanterns, complete with an outdoor flight cage for Pidgen. She loved to come out here with a book or letters for a quiet space alone in the soft rising light of morning or the cover of dusk with the lanterns lit. From here she could see the quiet street and beyond to the neighborhood and community park. It was a nicer neighborhood than she’d thought they’d find, but between her salary and Ron’s and careful budgeting it was easily afforded. Their building even had a gym and swimming pool for the tenets. A park and playground across the street for Rose as she grew up was a coveted amenity. Not too far from the ministry, even without the floo, and a charming narrow stream of water and foot bridge that Hermione was already fantasizing about taking Rose to feed the ducks that congregated under it, waiting for merciful pedestrians to throw a treat.

Shaking herself from her thoughts she turned and went back inside. It was warm today and she could easily get caught up procrastinating in the pleasant space of the terrace. She still wanted to get _something_ done today. 

Hermione crossed to sit at the small secretary desk behind the couch that she used as a center of operations and turned on the baby monitor, finding Rose still sleeping comfortably. It was one muggle bit of technology Hermione was glad she’d insisted on. Not because she thought the baby monitoring charms would fail or she couldn’t cast a transparency spell or silencing charms and peek in, but just because she enjoyed being able to just watch her. 

Setting the monitor down on the desk, Hermione began rifling through forms and papers. Being a magical citizen and a muggle one, having a presence in both worlds, could sometimes create a mess of confusion, but nothing she couldn’t straighten out. There were prescriptions to cancel, copayments to arrange and doctors and healers with their own instructions that didn't know about the others and wouldn’t understand if they did. She had one more thing to cancel with the muggle doctors and then it would be finished. 

Reaching into her beaded bag looking for the discharge instructions and appointments that she’d thrown in and forgotten, Hermione found something else.

_Uh oh._

Pulling out the plastic hospital bag she realized she still had all of Lucius’ belongings, and his money. She’d forgotten all about it and he had not contacted her about them so he must have forgotten in the ensuing chaos as well. Holding it in her hands she bit her lip. It had only been ten days since he had left her at St. Mungo’s, but she’d thought of him often. She couldn’t help it. And she had wanted to reach out, to check on him, to see how he was getting along in the aftermath of his injuries, but she had resisted. Really, she had no reason to expect he’d want to see her. Their dealings and their business with each other was concluded, wasn’t it? She should have stopped thinking about him so much by now with time to process all that had happened. But now she had no choice. She had to return the bag, didn’t she?

Hesitating just a moment, she set the bag aside and picked up her quill and parchment and set down to writing, stopping and starting several times, unsure how to word any of it.

_“Lucius._ ” she settled on. “ _It seems in the excitement of our escape and arrival at St. Mungoes, I forgot that I had possession of the hospital bag that has your belongings in it. I apologize for not realizing it sooner. Would it be alright if I brought it to you? At a time that's convenient. Hoping you are well, Hermione._ ”

Hermione folded and addressed it with a curt nod. That would do it. Friendly, but not _too_ friendly to make him uncomfortable or make him feel obligated to any certain style of address and got to the point. She crossed the room to Pidgen’s cage and tied the note to her leg. 

“How do you feel about some exercise this afternoon?” Hermione asked, stroking her chin.

The owl hooted softly in response and flew out the kitchen window. 

As she sat back down to continue with her papers, Hermione thought about the missive. She could have shrunk the items into a parcel and sent it with the owl. Why didn’t she? She supposed it was an excuse. Seeing for herself that Lucius had recovered, that Hermione had done him no harm with her amateur efforts would help her shed her straying thoughts, surely. 

Hermione was surprised but pleased when Pidgen returned shortly and landed gracefully on the desk in front of Hermione. But her brow furrowed in confusion when she untied the note and saw it was only her own unfolded and then closed again. She opened the parchment and saw he had written at the bottom a short message, and the script was oddly slanted. “ _Yes, thank you. At your leisure.”_

Perplexed, she took that to mean anytime was acceptable. It should probably be sooner rather than later. Ron would be back from the Auror’s office meeting in a few hours and she’d just as soon avoid that conversation. So, she decided to go when Rose awoke from her nap and had nursed. She had neglected to ask what the floo designation was, but it was not far to walk, and it was a nice day for the sun. And so, beaded bag at her wrist and Rose tucked happily and comfortably in the sling around Hermione’s torso, Hermione slipped on her trainers and headed for Lucius’ townhouse. 

The rocking of the walk and the snugness of the carrier had lulled Rose back to sleep.  
Surprisingly, she found she remembered the way easily and soon enough she was standing in front of the same familiar townhouse. The residence looked like any of the dozen others on the cul de sac, dark red brick and tall white columns framing the large heavy door. A wrought iron gate partitioned off the small but well-kept front lawn and a few shrubs lined the short flight of steps. She walked slowly up to the large door and grasped the circular iron door knocker and gave it a sharp tap. 

Rose stirred at the noise but didn’t seem overly bothered as she blinked into her surroundings and then snuggled her face into Hermione’s bosom as they waited. The wait was not long however, and the door swung open to reveal a house elf. Of course, he had a house elf, she didn't know why that surprised her. She hadn’t seen him on their short and admittedly distracted trip through the house to the floo and she simply hadn’t thought about it. 

The elf was wiry but clean, dressed in a smart trimmed green pillowcase fitted like a toga. It appeared to be male and stared at her curiously with its large luminous eyes, seemingly somewhere between young adult and middle aged in years. 

“Hello.” Hermione said nervously. She could never be sure what house elves had heard of her and what their general opinion of her was. “Um, I’m Hermione Granger, here to see Mr. Malfoy. What's your name?”

The elf spoke in a rough but with a measured tone. “My name is being Dilby, miss. Dilby is sorry. But the master is unwell and should not be receiving visitors today.”

Hermione was instantly alarmed. Unwell? Why?! “Oh, but he is expecting me.” she said in a rush.

“I see.” Dilby stepped aside and Hermione took that as permission to enter, and the elf snapped his fingers and the darkened entry way was brightened by black iron wall sconces giving her a proper look at the place she’d before only glimpsed. The entry hall was furnished with polished, dark wood floors, and dark green walls. It was the color she’d long come to, perhaps stereotypically, associated with these pureblood Slytherin families, but unlike the pervasive medieval darkness and stone she recalled from the manor, the effect was softened with white trim, and the large white fireplace she recalled him carrying her through...

She had only just caught her bearings when a voice startled her from the only open door in the hallway. 

“I’m _not_ unwell.” Lucius said, leaning heavily in the doorframe. “Dilby, this is Ms. Granger, she is to be admitted at any time and without delay.”

“Yes, of course master.” the elf replied, bowing deeply.

The elf was saying something about her being in time for tea, but Hermione wasn’t paying attention. She was preoccupied watching Lucius. For someone insisting he wasn’t unwell, he looked awful and in a state of undress she doubted he was _ever_ before found in when visitors called. He was pale, and drawn, a bit unsteady. He wore only a white button down that was only half closed and black slacks. He wasn’t even wearing shoes. He leaned in the doorway, hand at his side, his long hair loose and slightly disheveled. She noticed with some alarm that he seemed to be sweating. At least that explained the odd reply to her letter scrawled across hers...

“Lucius, you’re no better!” she said in a rush, crossing the room the short distance and impulsively touching his face. Her fingers felt scalded as she pulled away and searched his eyes for explanation. 

“Believe it or not this is better.” he replied, gesturing tiredly. 

“Then what exactly?” she challenged, “God you look awful. You’re burning up. Come on, back in here.”

Not waiting for argument or protest, Hermione grasped his forearm and guided him back through the open door. It was a small room, set up like a study. Several bookshelves lined the wall around the cold fireplace and in the opposite corner a large oak desk and black leather chair. She steered him towards the two armchairs before the fireplace and bid him to sit down. He did with no augment, commentary, or hesitation, adding to her concern and suspicion. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” he said, noting her furrowed brow. “We both knew I would need additional treatment.”

“Well yes, but…” she huffed, taking Rose from the sling and transfiguring it into a Moses basket. “What’s happened to you?”

“Nothing,” he insisted, breathlessly. He shook his head slowly and waved a hand dismissively as she looked at him skeptically. “A secondary infection set in. My healer gave me something for it. It's rather… unpleasant.”

“An infection?” Hermione frowned, laying Rose in the basket on the floor and crossing to Lucius. “Let me see.”

“Truly, I’m fine.” he insisted stubbornly. 

“Good, then you won’t mind me checking.” she countered.

Lucius closed his eyes tiredly. “Don’t trust me?”

“With this? No. Absolutely not.”

He nodded slowly and lifted his hand to unbutton his shirt. But his hand was unsteady, and Hermione perched on the arm of the chair and took over. Dilby chose that moment to appear with a tea tray and blinked in surprise at the scene before him. Setting the tray down on the coffee table, the elf bowed. “Is there anything else master or miss is needing?”

Hermione bit her lip hard, casting a nervous look at Lucius. Despite his insistence, he didn’t look well. He wasn’t even looking at her, wasn’t able to undo his own shirt. He just gripped the arms of the chair, eyes closed in focus as if dizzy and striving not to fall. She touched his neck, his forehead, the exposed flesh of his chest, feeling the searing heat coming from his body, and he barely noticed her touch.

“Dilby can you use your magic to enter another witch’s house if you’re given permission?”

That question seemed to shock the small creature who looked up at her with impossibly widened eyes. “Yes miss.”

“If you would, please go to my home, Hillcrest Apartment Complex, north Main street, apartment 306. The cabinet above the kitchen sink, there are potions for fever, bring them, and some cold water and a washcloth for your master, please.”

The elf vanished and Hermione returned to her task. 

“There’s no cause for alarm…” Lucius protested.

“Hush. There’s also no reason for you to suffer like this.” she said shortly, undoing the last button. “I realize without a wand, potion brewing might be a challenge, and you might not be feeling particularly trusting enough to purchase them but--” She trailed off as she parted the fabric and frowned pensively. The wounds and scars were clean and nearly completely faded. She breathed a silent sigh of relief. He was healing nicely, aside from the raised marks there was no sign there had ever been trouble, save for the telltale trail of red streaks that warned of infection, also fading and receding.

“Satisfied?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Well I’m glad you at least contacted a healer. Hell of a potion though.” she frowned, “You’re absolutely burning.”

“Yes.” he acknowledged. “But swift and effective. Truly. I look far worse than I am.”

Just then, Dilby reappeared and stood by the chair holding a porcelain washstand basin of aromatic water, the vials appearing on the table.

“Thank you so much Dilby.” Hermione said and picked up the vials, inspecting them and adding the ones she wanted to the water. “The fever means the potion they gave you is working but this will make your body feel cooler while the medicine does what it has to.”

The potions she added, she picked up the washcloth and soaked it in the water. 

“You don’t have to do this.” Lucius said. “I told you, you owe me no further consideration --”

“And I told _you_ ,” Hermione cut him off, ringing out the cloth. “None of this is transactional. I’m here because I want to be.”

“You’ll have to forgive me. It’s a new concept I’m struggling to become accustomed to.”

“What’s that?” she teased, pressing the cloth to his fevered temple. “Someone looking after you because they want to, not as payment or a bargaining tool? Or just someone giving a damn in general?”

Lucius smirked. “Something of the like. This is the second time you’ve come to my rescue.”

“Second time you’ve been in a right fit state.” She mumbled as she drew the cloth gently across his forehead and down his neck. She shook her head in irritation. “An infection. Ugh. I wish you had been seen at St. Mungo’s. They could have given you something stronger than I had right away. Self-righteous hag, useless arsehole dunderheads all of them. They should be arrested. All of them. Does this count as attempted murder? It should. Even if it doesn't, this is ridiculous. In this state for want of a simple antibiotic. You were acquitted, it doesn’t matter what they think!”

She wasn’t fully aware her ranting had been out loud until Lucius spoke. “Acquitted is not the same thing as not guilty.”

She raised her chin. “Either way you have the same rights and protections as anyone else!”  
Lucius chuckled quietly; she felt the vibration in his chest as she drew the cool cloth over his now bare flesh. “Has anyone told you that you are –”

“Delusional and naïve, I know.” She huffed, filling in the blanks. “Self-righteous know it all.”

Lucius hand covered hers and stilled her. “Uncommonly and idealistically kind.”

Hermione looked up and met his darkened, tired eyes. His correction caught her off guard and she smiled. She reflected as she went about her efforts that this came startlingly easily after a comparatively short time; this need to know he was alright. A million justifications went through her head, but all faded to nothing when she noticed how he was watching her. It was a strange expression. As if he were trying to work out a riddle as she ran her hand with the cooling cloth over him. He was so hot that she was surprised steam wasn’t coming off his skin. But she dipped the cloth again in the cold water Dilby held patiently and continued on. 

She paused, realizing if she weren't in a relationship, and he weren't on the tail end of a high fever the position would be quite intimate. Her body was angled over him, her hand cradling his face, her breast pressed lightly against his shoulder, unwittingly as she leaned in to reach across him to the other side of his chest. Before, at the muggle hospital, she had been so focused on him, the patient, that she hadn’t really noticed him, the man. True he had looked admittedly quite attractive in muggle scrubs, but she had tried not to think about what he looked like under his robes. Now, his shirt open, flesh virtually unmarred she had an unobstructed view of him, and nothing was left to the imagining. Broad shoulders, lean but well-muscled chest and arms, fit without burliness, strong, flat abdomen without the washboard look she found unappealing.

Yes, she couldn’t deny he was a beautiful man. Was it alright to call a man beautiful? _Well._ She thought. _That should just stay an inside thought anyway._

Hermione paused in her ministrations and looked up with a sudden fright. Right? Inside thought? Lucius was looking tired, and not at all humiliated or alarmed, so no, she hadn’t once again let anything slip. Nodding to herself once she tried to shake those thoughts away lest she get herself in trouble. 

The potions added to the cold water seemed to be having an effect. She could smell the yarrow and elder flowers, both good for fevers and the earthy scents of bark and forest herbs and magical additives. But it seemed to be also having a draining effect on him, pulling the fever and his energy from his body. His head fell back against the chair, eyes closed, and his breathing was deep, steady and restful. When she had finished her task, satisfied it had accomplished as much as it was going to and Dilby had quietly slipped away with the water basin, she stood and his eyes opened again, blinking rapidly in confusion as he looked around. 

“What… what did you do?” he asked blearily.

Hermione giggled, hands on her hips. “Nothing. That’s the exhaustion of a bad fever leaving your body. I don’t know how long this stuff will work but you should probably keep this up as long as you have to take the potion.”

Lucius looked up and met her eyes. “Thank you.”

She smiled tightly and nodded. Clearing her throat anxiously she turned to the coffee table as he began buttoning his shirt back up. “Dilby warmed the tea before he left. Shall I make you a cup? Fluids are probably a good idea.”

Lucius nodded once. “Thank you. No milk, one sugar.” he added when she paused with her hand hovering over the tea service questioningly. 

Hermione bent over the table and poured the now steaming water from the silver kettle into the white bone china cup and held it out to him before fixing herself one as well and sitting in the opposite chair Rose laid beside. 

“Are you well, Hermione?” he asked earnestly after he’d taken a bracing sip of tea. 

“Mhm.” Hermione said, stirring her own. “Perfectly. On my word as a witch.” she blushed. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

An amused smirk curved his lips and he shook his head. “As long as you’re well now.”

She nodded in affirmation and took a drink of tea. The immediate danger long behind them, Hermione found herself unsure what to say to him. Her heart was thumping in an odd rhythm of anxiousness and her stomach fluttered distractingly. But it wasn’t an unpleasant, nervous energy, more… anticipatory. But there was something stuck in her mind that she wished to convey... 

“And I’m sorry for how you were treated at St. Mungo’s.” she said quietly. “It's not how it was supposed to be after the reforms. I guess there’s still work to do.”

Lucius nodded slowly. “Two years is not a long time. The trials of war are still fresh in the minds of many. People are not, rightly or wrongly, always as forgiving as you.”

She snorted. “I haven’t always been. But…when people know what you did maybe things will change.”

“I would just as soon as they didn’t.” Lucius confessed.

“What?” Hermione asked, perplexed. “Why?”

He smiled tightly, hesitating as he thought about his answer. “You said before. That you believed me, that I did not have any ulterior motive in aiding you. But even if I _had_ thought to use it to my advantage, the ensuing media circus wouldn’t be worth it.”

Hermione tilted her head to the side in thought. “You don’t think it would help your image.”

He gave a short rueful laugh. “My dear I’ve been in the public eye long enough to know how it goes. I don’t think the stories would be what you assume. It would be said I had some plot in mind. I can see the papers now, rumor mill aflame with accusations I rigged the train to derail to begin with.”

She chuckled softly and stared down at her teacup. “You’re probably right.”

“And frankly…” he took a deep breath. “I’m tired. I don’t want the exposure, the attention, or the questions. I weary of seeing my name in headlines.” His eyes strayed to Rose wriggling happily in her basket. “And _she_ does not deserve to be made the subject of the paper’s gossip so young.”

Hermione smiled sadly. She hadn’t thought of that.

“Besides,” he added, taking another drink, looking more energized. “I freely confess my first thought upon finding you was not at all altruistic or heroic.”

“Well, what _was_ your first thought?” She asked curiously.

“Something along the lines of _‘Oh, Merlin’s balls please let there be someone else in these woods to do this.’”_

Hermione laughed out loud, leaning forward in mirth and Rose startled looking upwards towards the sound. “Well to be fair, there was someone else out there, but he shot you so… there we are…”

Lucius smiled at her and raised his cup in a toast. “Indeed. And of the entire experience, I think I’d rather have taken Greyback in a fist fight.”

Hermione leaned back and set her now empty teacup aside. “Well, unfortunately I think it’s only a matter of time before _something_ comes out. The way we arrived at St. Mungo’s caused a stir.”

He laughed. “Yes, it did, didn’t it? Weasley still cross with you?”

“He’s... coping.” Hermione answered.

His eyes danced. “And Rose is doing well? She’s so quiet you would forget she’s there.”

“Excellently.” Hermione smiled. “And hardly ever fusses. Would you like to hold her properly?”

He looked taken back by the offer but then he took her most willingly when Hermione lifted her from her basket and walked over to him. Hermione laid her in Lucius’ now steady arms, and he cradled her gently against his chest as she stretched and reached and Hermione grinned.

The expression on his face was transformative. His eyes and smile softened in an effect only a child could have on a person and he stroked her cheek affectionately. “Hello, little one.” he greeted her softly. “Are you aware of what a lioness your mother is?” Lucius leaned back in the chair, settling in with her comfortably, Rose gripping his index finger tightly. “But, intrepid girl, I’m quite certain you will prove to have inherited her streak of cleverness, and courage.”

Hermione watched them in a peaceful air of contentment as Rose gurgled and grasped at his sleeve, his hair, anything she could reach. 

“Oh!” Hermione said, sitting up straight and shaking herself. “I almost forgot the whole reason I came!”

She reached down beside her chair for her bag and pulled out the parcel that contained his belongings from the hospital. She waved it briefly and stood up, crossing the room to lay it on his desk. As she did though, she caught sight of a facedown book. That wouldn’t have been out of place in a study, but as the paper cover denoted it was obviously muggle, it caused her to do a double take.

Being herself, and it being a book, she couldn’t help picking it up and nearly choked on nothing when she read the title, “Scientific Advancements of the 20th Century.” she read in astonishment. Lucius was thoroughly distracted by the child in his arms, who was cooing happily up at him and currently making a wild grab for his face and so Hermione engaged in a willful and probably unwise breach of privacy but her curiosity wouldn’t be cowed. Flipping it over, she noted it was open to a chapter on medical technology, and there were several slips of parchment tucked among several of the pages flagging various topics. 

Taking the book and crossing the room quickly, the questions wouldn’t be delayed as she could barely contain her excitement. “You’re reading about muggle technology?!”

Looking up in surprise, he extended one hand and took the book back with a speed unreasonable for a man in his state and snapped it shut. “I was… intrigued.” he admitted. “I suppose it's just my pathetic attempt to understand what happened.”

Hermione nodded politely but inside she was screaming excitedly at the prospect of him broadening his understanding of the muggle world. “It’s natural to be curious about what you saw and experienced.” She said, sitting back down in the chair and folding her hands as she stared at him intently.

A dark look passed through his eyes as he tapped the cover thoughtfully before putting it aside. She remembered his shock in the hospital over the blood transfusion, learning muggle blood ran through his body now, and his surprise at various aspects of muggle policy, such as medical treatment for prisoners and the Hippocratic oath. She had only briefly touched on those things with him before but had been afraid to press the matter and force him to analyze things he wasn’t ready to. “You’re struggling with this deeply.” she acknowledged.

Lucius smiled tightly, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and didn’t elaborate on his thoughts. “Does that disappoint you?” he asked frankly, meeting her eyes, shifting to allow Rose to recline against his shoulder and inspect what she could see of her surroundings.

“No.” she answered honestly after thinking it over a moment. “I find it doesn’t. If you’re struggling, then you’re thinking about it.” she sighed. “It’s a lot to take in. But… regardless of who they were. I’m glad they could save you.”

He smirked, looking at her intently, an odd expression in his grey eyes. “Are you?”

“Tremendously.” she said a bit dumbfounded. It didn’t make sense, her visceral reaction to his injury. But she could barely breathe when she had known he was hurt and couldn’t get to him. “Is it really so hard to fathom I would care?”

“Not you specifically.” he shook his head. “You simply are the only person who has ever looked at me and seen a man worth saving.”

Hermione looked up to see a slight smile barely curving his lips and brightening his eyes, and she couldn’t stop one of her own. But then Lucius looked down in surprise as Rose took advantage of her new position and grabbed hold of a fistful of Lucius’ hair and pulled, Hermione stifling a laugh.

Lucius smiled down at the child and touched the end of her nose. “Now I remember why I began tying it back.”

But as another quarter of an hour ticked by of them sitting comfortably together, talking of inconsequential matters, Hermione frowned again. Her business was concluded, and she really had no reason to continue taking up his time. He was too well bred and polite to tell her to leave but she could see dark shadows under his eyes and realized between the injury, the hospital stay and the fever, he’d likely not gotten genuine sleep in days. Maybe weeks. 

“You look tired.” she said. “We should go and let you rest.”

Lucius stood as Hermione transfigured the basket back into her baby carrier and wrapped the fabric around her. Rose fussed a moment when Lucius took her in his arms and with a brief kiss on her forehead, he helped Hermione arrange her in the folds of the sling. Rose accepted this change of location and ceased whimpering, nestling against her mother.

“Thank you for tea.” she told him, picking up her bag. “I…” she stared at the floor before looking up to meet his eyes. She was unsure if she should risk saying what was on her mind. “If something goes wrong. And you need help. Please. Send for me?”

Lucius blinked in surprise and paused in thought. He nodded slowly. “Thank you. For your concern, and for your help.”

She smiled, a bit awkwardly. “Alright then. Rest, I can see myself out.”

“Take care, Hermione. Both of you.”

With a final nod, Hermione patted Rose on the back and left the study with hurried steps. She wasn’t running from him exactly. But the feelings and thoughts tumbling around in her mind were a bit difficult to sort through and she needed distance. But she paused when she saw Dilby the elf waiting by the door, and he bowed deeply when he saw her.

“He’s really recovered, Dilby?” Hermione asked in a whisper, “Are you certain?”

“Yes, miss.” the elf nodded and answered equally quietly. “Potion has been getting rid of the sickness. Fever is side effect. Dilby will look after the master.”

Hermione let go of a deep sigh of relief she didn't know she was holding. She didn’t know Dilby’s story, or how loyal he might be, and she bit back her natural curiosity to launch into a dozen questions. It wasn’t the time or her place to really ask. But even if it was a house elf, she felt lighter and more relaxed that he was at least no longer alone and left to his own devices. Someone was there. Someone who could intervene and get help if it was needed. With that thought to comfort her, she cast a glance over her shoulder to the study door and left quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I would like to say: As we move into some topics coming up (unplanned pregnancies, attitudes towards unwed mothers, decisions on relationships and divorce etc etc) it seems appropriate to add an obligatory disclaimer of “the views and attitudes expressed by various characters in this fic do not necessarily reflect the views of the author”. I know these are points that can get heavy, and people cope with these situations in real life in a variety of ways with a variety of reasonings.


	17. A First Time for Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron and Hermione have an argument and a heart to heart; Lucius has a choice to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the encouragement and well wishes. Slowly but surely feeling better so hopefully all will be well!  
> Now to some housekeeping. Towards the middle of the chapter, Hermione describes what it felt like to think her baby was dead, the nightmares she had about dying in childbirth and what it was like seeing Lucius shot. Keep this in mind if you think these might disturb you.

_“There's a moment we all come to,  
In our own time and our own space,  
Where all that we've done, we can undo,  
If our heart's in the right place.”  
**“When You Come Back to Me Again”** , Garth Brooks_

**4 June 2000, later that same day.**

Hermione didn't go home right away after leaving Lucius’ home. Rose was content, both of them were enjoying the air and sunshine, and Ron wouldn’t be home and wondering about her for some time yet. She had, up until now, opted to “lie low” in the muggle world but she chanced it, wandering into a muggle bookstore. She had a sudden idea and she wanted to see if she could get anywhere with it. It took some searching, but she found what she was looking for, and with only a few breaks to nurse or change Rose on the cozy reading couches among the bookshelves and tall open windows, she made her purchases and started home. 

Getting into the open once more had helped her heart stop its erratic thumping. She wasn’t sure she could process the hows and whys right now, but she seemed to be having quite a few highly improper thoughts about Lucius. Nerves and trauma, she was sure that was all it was. A sudden and drastic change in her view of him and her mind was racing to catch up. And of course, there was the simple fact it was hard to ignore an attractive man, and Lucius was most assuredly a very attractive man. 

But guilt set in over Ron as she made her way home. She had determined to do what she had to in order to make their relationship work. Did she think blushing over another man was the way to do that? She did her best to shake those thoughts off. They were only internal reflections after all. It didn’t mean anything. She could appreciate a man’s demeanor and appearance without it going any further. 

The guilt was short lived, however, replaced with irritation when she entered the flat. She didn't expect Ron home yet, so she was surprised to hear an angry demand shouted across the house when she came through the door…

“Where the _bloody hell_ have you been?!”

“Ron?” Hermione called back, brow furrowed. “We went out, I wasn’t expecting you for a while. I didn’t mean for you to worry--”

Ron stalked out of the kitchen into the living room. “We got done early so I came home, and you were gone!”

Hermione sighed and tossed her bag on the couch and crossed the room to lay Rose in the bassinet, proactively casting a silencing charm around her bed.

“I’m sorry, if I thought you’d be back early I’d have left a note,” she said, turning back and standing in front of him in the living room. “We’ve only been gone about two hours and--”

“Don’t bother I saw the letter.” he spat, arms folded across his chest. 

It was then Hermione saw the parchment folded and clutched, crumbled in his hand. The letter she’d written to Lucius. She sighed deeply. “Then why are you asking if you already knew where I was?”

“What were you doing there?” he asked by way of answer.

Hermione glanced at him impatiently and snatched the letter from his hand as she walked by him to take her bag off the couch and crossed to the desk. She looked up, jabbing at the parchment.

“If you found the letter you know why.” she said, laying both the letter and bag on the desk. 

“What took so long?” Ron rolled his eyes.

Her back to him momentarily, Hermione closed her eyes and took a breath already knowing this wasn’t going to end peacefully but there was no way around it. “When I got there, he was sick with a fever. He had developed an infection from his injuries, and I stayed to make sure he was alright.”

“So, you left and took our daughter with you for god knows how long to, _again_ , help a death eater…” he scowled.

“No, Ron.” she said, turning irritably at the juvenile question. “I took our daughter and stayed for not even an hour to help a man who saved her life.” Hermione turned and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. “I owed it to him.”

Hermione didn’t look at him while she was busy taking a cup, tea and heating water with her wand, but she knew he would be sputtering, she could practically hear his gaping stare.

“ _Owed him_?” Ron repeated, coming into the kitchen behind her. “Owed him?! After everything he's done it should have been considered a _down payment_!!”

Dropping the tea bag rather unceremoniously into the hot water, Hermione briefly raised a hand to her forehead, her head aching sharply at his suddenly raised voice.

“Ron, I've been through a lot, ok? I’m still really tired, I’ve had a long day. I know you’re still irritated about me leaving the hospital last week, but I really don’t want to do this with you.”

“Too bad!” Ron argued sharply, “You just leave and do this without saying anything?”

Hermione rounded on him, fists clenched. “You want me to ask your _permission_ to leave the house?!”

Ron at least had the sense to take a step back, eyes wide with surprise at her outburst. “No, that’s not –”

“What was I supposed to do?” Hermione asked, gesturing wildly. “Send an owl to you at work, _‘hey babe, going to Malfoy’s be back later’?_ We have a newborn baby girl, we’re lucky she’s here at all, can't we just enjoy it without fighting every other day?!”

Ron flushed, in anger or embarrassment, maybe both. “Alright well even if I accepted that you went and did all that and risked your health and safety for him because he finally did one _single_ , decent thing in his life, now you’re _still_ talking to him.”

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. What was she supposed to do? “Well, it’s kind of hard to just wash my hands of it all.”

Ron ran a hand through his short red hair in frustration, grumbling. “I don’t get why! It's simple, you say thanks, bye and it’s done!”

But his words had snapped something she didn’t know was wound up to begin with and it burst out of her mouth.

“No! You _don’t_ get it!” she said angrily. “You know why? Because you weren’t _there_!”

“And that’s _my_ fault?!” he shouted, and Hermione was glad she’d put the charm around Rose’s cradle.

“ _No_! It’s _not_ your fault!” Hermione screamed “It's no one's fault! But the only image _you_ have in your head of her is her gurgling, happy, warm and wriggling. Bright, creamy pink cheeks, and big blue eyes…” Hermione crossed her arms over her breasts, swallowing hard as the memories bubbled up one by one. “But I saw her.” she said. “Still. Eyes closed. Not moving. Not breathing. Not making a sound. Limp and starting to turn blue.” 

Hermione choked, covering her mouth with her hand. “Do you have any idea how that felt?” she asked shakily. “Can you even try to imagine?”

Ron blanched, standing frozen as he stared at her in silence. 

“And I saw him, yes _him_ , Lucius Malfoy.” Hermione continued, a bite in her voice. “Former death eater, pureblood supremacist… his hands and arms covered in _my_ blood, and god knows what else, holding her. And literally breathing the life back into her, coaxing her awake, and she cried. And she was alright again.”

Hermione was crying now. Remembering those seemingly endless hours and minutes of her birth, the seconds of terror and agony of silence, the limp limbed relief that flooded her when she heard Rose cry...

Hermione bowed her head, tears falling down her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut. “And I've gone back to that ditch. Every night since she was born. Only in my nightmares, there IS no Lucius. I was never found because no one else was out there but a muggle who probably would have still gotten there too late. In my nightmares, our daughter is dead and buried, me right next to her, because I just bled out and never even gave birth to her.”

Hermione grabbed a dish towel from the counter angrily and dried her face, but the words still tumbled out in a furious rush one after another. “So _yes_ , I left the hospital to rescue him! _Yes_ I stayed to help him and make sure he was ok today! Because he was almost killed while saving our lives. Because I saw the bullet rip through his chest, and watched him crumble to the ground, practically drowning in his own blood, hovering near death in the hospital, and I couldn’t let that just be it!!”

She threw the towel aside, sobbing, breathless and Ron stepped forward with a sigh, gripping her shoulders, leaning his forehead against hers and hushed and soothed her until the sobbing subsided into gasping breaths. 

“Look, I’m sorry, ok?” He said finally, running a hand through her hair. “I really am. I just… that’s the whole problem. I know it sounds dumb but… this was our first baby. I know she wasn’t planned, and things were a bit hectic for a while, but we’ve been in a better place, I thought.”

“Yeah, we have.” She agreed with a sigh, resting her hand on his arm.

“We were looking forward to it.” Ron explained. “We had the bag packed, and we took the classes you wanted, and we had the plan and the plan b and c… and none of it involved you giving birth to our daughter in the middle of the woods after a train wreck and a head injury.”

“I know.” She acknowledged softly.

Ron took a step back and tilted her chin up to look at him. “And I know it sounds stupid. And petty and ridiculous, and probably really selfish. But it was supposed to be me! You were supposed to be comfortable and taken care of in St. Mungo’s, and I was supposed to be there. I was _terrified_ when I heard about the train and then we didn’t know where you were. I can't stand the fact you were in that trouble and Malfoy was there instead of me, that he was the first person our daughter saw, that he touched you and saw you… like… like that. It’s not right.”

Ron turned away and leaned forward on the counter, his head hung as if he were embarrassed to confess what had been going through his head, but Hermione could have guessed at most of it, and really couldn’t blame him for his shock.

Hermione huffed and rubbed her temples aggressively. “Listen. I understand that this is a total mind fuck ok?” she admitted. “It was hard for me too. You have every right to feel robbed, hell I feel robbed too! You think I wanted _that_ to be my experience with the birth of my first baby?”

Ron didn't look up, but he shook his head dejectedly.

“But Ron… it wasn’t _Lucius_ that robbed you. _No one_ did.” she continued imploringly. “We didn’t plan it or ask for it, and you know what? I'm thankful he was there. Would it have been less awkward with someone else? Probably. But he helped me, and more importantly he saved Rose. And now she’s fine. Just… try and focus on that.”

“Yeah.” Ron relented after a pause, straightening, and pushing off the counter. “Yeah, you’re right. I'm sorry. I get why you felt like you had to help him. I'm sorry for giving you a hard time.”  
Hermione shifted, arms folded. “Thanks.”

Ron blew out a breath and massaged the back of his neck a bit sheepishly. “Listen I’ll… I’ll reheat your tea. Why don’t you go sit and relax? I’ll entertain Rose for a bit. Read to her or something. Bring you some lemonade?”

Hermione slid her hands in her back pockets and nodded. “Yeah. Sounds nice, Ron. Thanks.”

She walked slowly out to the living room and laid down on the couch in the quiet. Ron paused in the space between there and the kitchen and Hermione looked up.

“Just… it's over now, right?” Ron asked. “It's done?”

Hermione hesitated and nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. There’s no reason for me to see him again.”

Why did that thought disappoint her so much?

But something wasn't right. It still felt unfinished. Fortunately, she had an idea what she could do to close the chapter in her mind once and for all. After Ron had taken Rose to the nursery, Hermione discreetly summoned a pen and parchment and began her letter.

_“Minister Shacklebolt. I am writing to request an appointment at your earliest convenience. I am hoping you can help me undo something I wish I hadn’t done…”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Luicus had lied to Hermione. 

Well… Not precisely a lie. More deception by omission. A technicality that he hadn’t elaborated on further. 

The townhouse he resided at - for he had never been able to think of the place he had spent so little time in his life as home - was dark now with the gathering evening. He must have fallen asleep right in this chair in his study moments after Hermione left. He hadn’t even the energy to dress properly, but there were more vital things to tend to when he awoke at nearly 6 in the evening - a full 4 hours after the persistent witch had taken her leave - and realized the time.  
He had been fully prepared to deal with the fallout from the healing potion but the preparation Hermione had used on him had worked wonders, and though exhausted, he could no longer feel the scalding effects of the purgative. He could approach this with a clear head and sharp senses. If she knew what he’d planned for the evening, she likely wouldn’t have assisted him, he realized this. Lucius tried not to allow his mind to drift to her visit, and the soothing feel of her touch. He convinced himself rather insistently that it was simply a physical reaction to the fever dissipating.

Yes, that was reasonable. 

Luicus looked at the clock in the corner. His healer - his first healer - would be here soon for his scheduled follow up. His hand flexed in irritation. And Lucius was ready for him. 

He took a deep steadying breath, still battling the exhaustion. It had been a chaotic week. Fortnight? By the gods he’d lost track of the time passing since that fateful day in the woods. He wasn’t even entirely sure what day of the week it was. He had made his peace with the likelihood his stay in the muggle hospital would end badly. Watched Hermione walk away, seen the odd regret in her eyes when she’d gone, and then had the shock of his life when she had walked back into his room in that bemusingly ridiculous disguise in a fury of righteous indignation to help him escape. 

He still couldn’t believe she had actually done it. Helped him. Healed him. Came back for him… 

Yes, recent events had put him in quite a state of astonishment. From the moment he stepped into that clearing and found Hermione, he had been in shambles of one form or another and had been grappling to regain control ever since. 

Even now his heart still pounded painfully to remember the events that led to his challenges, and the relief he felt when Hermione had laid Rose in his arms and he saw she was well. The same fear that had gripped him when he saw Hermione nearly faint after their escape, the same relief when she had shown up in his foyer, Rose in her arms, both recovered and looking no worse for wear for all their struggles. 

But still, nothing could last forever and though he had inexplicably come to enjoy Hermione’s conversation and company he was not surprised when she departed. Though her last entreaty that he call her if he was in need of help _did_ surprise him. But it reaffirmed his decision not to tell her the real reason he’d fallen ill.

Lucius had experienced his fair share of injuries, both on himself and others. But this… muggle weapon… was strange to him. As was the injury it had caused. Knowing help was unlikely, upon his unexpected release from the hospital, he had strived to manage it on his own. But he had underestimated the layers of damage done to his body and an infection set in. Nothing severe, easily managed with the right tools that he unfortunately had no access to. So reluctantly, hesitant to sacrifice any more of his pride than he had already lost, he called for the healer they had traditionally used for their family needs from France, Healer Phillipe Bernard. 

So that much at least was not a lie. 

The piece of information he had left out in his brief recounting to Hermione, was that his healer was apparently easily bought. 

A mere 24 hours after the healer had left, he had felt strange. And worse than he had leading up to the visit. Another night and he woke up feeling sure he was near death. Poison, he recognized the symptoms. The potions that were supposed to help him finish healing were tampered with. But he had only just realized what was happening when he collapsed on his drawing room floor, sure he would not be waking again. 

But he _had_ woken again, in his bed. Feverish but alive. Dilby had rushed to Malfoy Manor and pleaded with Draco who, to Lucius’ surprise, apparently had come and commissioned a healer. A proper one this time. His son had not stayed but it was the most contact he'd had with him in a year. Too bad he’d been unconscious for it. 

Sepsis, the new healer had told him, had had him very near death, brought on by the tampered potion worsening his condition. Poor Hermione, he remembered thinking tiredly. All her hard work undone.

No, that was not true. She had done fine work for someone with no formal healing training and the wounds and incisions remained closed, the problem deeper seated within his body, in his very veins. Fortunate. He’d hate to think what the assassins poison would have done to an open wound of that magnitude. Of course, without her, there'd be no need for poisons and sabotage, because he’d still likely be in the muggle hospital strapped to a bed with his chest broken open while barbaric surgeons and mind healers prodded at him with their scalpels and ridiculous questions.

Lucius Malfoy was not a man that liked being in debt, but he owed Hermione one he could never hope to repay. Oh yes there was that technicality of helping her through her labor and delivery and reviving her daughter that she felt she had to repay, but that was a necessity of circumstance. It was not the same as the repeated and wild lengths she had gone to in order to help him. Not in his mind at least. 

Perhaps that was why he hadn’t told her what happened. She had already risked too much. Done too much. And he had quickly learned of her stubborn streak, if she knew he had been nearly assassinated by the very healer that had been summoned to help him, who knew what lengths she’d go to.

The fireplace roared to a life of green flame and the dark haired, fair skinned wizard stepped out. He looked around in the dark study, seemingly unsurprised. That is until the lamps and wall sconces lit, and the light raised. The man turned, dark green robes swirling with the sudden motion and his thin lips parted in shock when his eyes landed on Lucius.

“Good evening, Healer Bernard.” he greeted him evenly, leaning wearily on his forearm surveying the middle-aged man. 

Bernard sputtered silently. “I… good evening, Mr. Malfoy.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Whatever is the matter? You look… quite surprised to see me. Did we not arrange your return after a few days to see how I was progressing in your prescribed treatment?”

“I - I… yes. Yes, we did Mr. Malfoy.” Bernard replied, holding his hands behind his back as he collected himself. “And how are you fairing this evening?”

“Quite well.” Lucius answered, rising from the chair. “I was forced to seek a second opinion.”

Lucius chuckled darkly as Bernard whipped his wand out. “Not another step. I know you have no wand.”

Lucius smiled and raised his hands placatingly. “True enough. Dilby? As discussed.”

Bernard gasped as his wand flew out of his hand forcefully and into Luicus’ grasp. Bernard paled several shades as Lucius raised the wand. 

“You tried to kill me.” he accused, any faux humor fleeing his face and he held the wand steady, trained directly on the duplicitous healer. “Why?”

“I… please… I don’t know what you are --”

“Don’t!” Lucius seethed. “Don’t insult me by lying even now. You gave me a potion that far from helping was designed to exacerbate my condition. I know you did this, my near death is evidence enough. The only question is why.”

Bernard’s jaw tightened. “It was a matter of mere opportunity. You were already wounded, all I had to do was finish you off.”

“Who paid you?” Lucius demanded. 

"I don't know. They didn't give their name or show their face." he responded cryptically. “You have many enemies.”

Lucius tilted his head to the side, his gaze sweeping over the other man contemplatively. “Yes, I do. And now I’ll have one less. _Incarcerous_.”

Bernard pitched forward onto his face with a crack as the bindings materialized around him. The man struggled and scrambled to his knees, his hands pulled tight behind his back and looked up.

“No! Please! I beg you!”

“Silence.” Another twirl of the wand and a gag pulled tight around his mouth. Lucius sneered in disgust as the would-be assassin mumbled unintelligibly to the point of pathetic desperate whimpering. Lucius took a step closer, holding the wand, about the speak the words that would end the cretin once and for all and then…

But something caught his eye. The hand that held the wand, just visible beneath the sleeve of his shirt, a small dark band of elastic around his wrist. Hermione’s hair band…

There was little time to process why. Or identify the emotion that unexpectedly reared up in his chest. He paused, the muffled begging and whimpering the only sound beyond the ticking of the clock and the pounding of his own heart. It was a first, really. He could not recall the last time he’d done it.

Lucius Malfoy lowered his wand. 

Bernard looked up at him in silent shock and confusion, closing his eyes and bowing his head in relief, his body shaking violently as Luicus released the bonds and turned his back, walking towards the fireplace. 

“Get out of my sight.” Lucius spat, snapping the wand in half and then to quarters and throwing it at the ashen faced and still trembling healer. “No one would care if I turned you in for attempted murder, so that is pointless, but you can assume you are fired. And I have no scruples of ensuring that every potential client on the continent knows how easily purchased you are. I can assure you that you will not find employment very easy moving forward. I can make your life very difficult and I will take great pleasure in doing so.”

The dumbfounded healer stood frozen still, gaping at him. Lucius took hold of a decorative dagger he had waiting on the mantle and turned towards the man.

“You try my patience!” Lucius shouted. “Leave, before I revoke my newfound goodwill and kill you anyway. OUT!”

Spent, the healer vanishing in a hasty rush and fumbling past him into a burst of green flame through the floo, Lucius collapsed limply back into the armchair. The house elf revealed himself.

“Will that be all, master?” Dilby asked, uncertainly.

“Yes, you may go.” Lucius answered tiredly. 

The elf popped away and Lucius leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. What was the matter with him? What was becoming of him?

Leaning back in a posture of defeat he pulled the thin band of fabric from his wrist and twirled it slowly in his fingers, deep in thought. Why had he done that? He had never been as ruthless as some of the others, to the mockery of his comrades, the annoyance of the dark lord and the disappointment of his wife who was convinced such weaknesses as hesitation and restraint were to blame for their suffering. But nor had he ever let an active threat simply walk away without punishment. Why had he allowed his would-be assassin to walk free? 

_Because she sees something in you, and you don't want to destroy it. A revenge kill would only convince her they are all right about you. That you can't change..._

And why exactly should that matter, hmm? Since when did he give account for the opinion of any witch or wizard let alone an idealistic muggle born activist?

_Because no one has ever looked at you like that before. Not as something to be feared or reviled. Just as a man._

He continued twisting the band in his hand thoughtfully. It was ridiculous how this one small piece of elastic had become such a symbol to him. A reminder that someone had cared enough to come back for him… someone who had every reason to hate him and remain unforgiving… and didn’t. 

With the chaos of finding Ms. Granger, being wounded, the disorienting and drugged stay in the muggle hospital which suddenly morphed into the strange captivity and surprising escape, and then days battling the fever and infection he’d barely had time to think. But now he did, and he felt more out of control than ever. 

His preoccupation was dangerous. His thoughts strayed to her often. More than was appropriate or rational. He thought often about the child as well but that at least had a reasonable physiological explanation. 

Years ago, before Voldemort had returned and upended their lives, he might have found a way to take advantage of the situation. But he had no energy or desire for such machinations. In any case, the sight of the stranded war heroine, bleeding and terrified and the feel of the baby, lifeless and quiet in his arms were images and feelings he didn't care to dwell on. The unexpected and - let's face it - unusual way it had cut at his heart still haunted him. Conversely the warmth and genuine softness she - they - had stirred in him were equally off setting. What had happened to him?

Then there was the matter of the blood. His angrier side, the one more ready to cling to old habits seized upon the apparent near-death experience he’d been told he’d had. See there? It argued. Incompatible and inferior blood. But it was as if Ms. Granger had said muggles also experienced such incompatibilities then it had nothing to do with the purity of magical blood and by his own prior insistence and a thousand years of his ancestry he was now tainted. It was a crisis of identity and conscience that he had not experienced in some time.

As if his thoughts of her hand summoned her, a persistent tapping on the window on the other side of the room caught his attention. Brow furrowed, he slipped the hairband absentmindedly into his shirt pocket and stood. He’d had exactly two owls in the past 6 months and both of them had been today and both of them from Hermione Granger. He recognized her handwriting as he opened the curtain and window and untied the letter and small parcel from the owl. 

The bird hooted softly and flew off again leaving Lucius looking down at the missive with quizzical attention. The parcel, no bigger than an ashtray, transformed at his touch into a much larger package, and with absolutely no idea what she had done, Lucius unfurled the letter…

_“Lucius. I found these for you. No pressure. I just thought with how much you were struggling with some things, it might help to read the stories of people who might have had similar feelings as you. There are some reference materials too. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to make things more difficult. Truly I’m not. But you seem so uncertain and this is the only way I know to help. I think you are like me in that regard, information is what helps you sort through things. So please don’t take this as an attempt to push you towards a certain way of thinking. If it doesn’t interest you, toss them in the fireplace. Otherwise you’re welcome to. Best wishes. Hermione Granger.”_

She rambled when she was nervous, he’d realized by now. Apparently, that extended to writing. But Lucius’ chest tightened painfully at the words, a sensation he’d have to analyze later. 

Intrigued and suspicious, he snapped the twine wrapped around the parcel and pulled off the simple brown paper. They were books. Muggle by the looks of them. He should have hidden that bloody book on technological advancement, as he had now been thoroughly “outed”. 

One by one, Lucius looked at the books. _‘Philosophy of Medicine’, ‘Introduction to Criminal Law’, ‘The Rights of Prisoners, A Criminal Law Study Companion’, ‘Saved By the Enemy: True Stories of Sacrifice and Challenge From the Revolution to Kosovo.’ and ‘The Measure of a Man: Rebuilding Your Life After Incarceration’._ Curious and feeling he’d already crossed one previously unthought of hurdle - or several by now- he turned the book over and read an excerpt on the cover. _“Men very often define who they are by what they have done with their lives or other external things. And when they do that, they unknowingly set a trap for failure in their personal lives."_

His first reaction might have been cynical scorn. Or suspicion. But then he read the words again. And again. And a fourth time. No. This wasn't mockery. This was sincere. This was Hermione Granger, muggle born princess of Gryffindor identifying a difficulty and striving to help him. Again. 

With a defeated huff Lucius tossed the book on the desk. What was he thinking? One. One moment of weakness and curiosity over his prior circumstances, one awkward and uncertain venture into a muggle London bookstore and now he was actually contemplating delving into this. But he picked up Hermione’s missive once more and reread the words again. The old version of himself might have taken offense at the implications. A man like him did not take well to needing help in any realm let alone a mental one. But the war-wizened version gave pause. The words were innocent, optimistic, and genuine. In a few short days of acquaintance Hermione Granger had shown him more empathy and sincerity than he could recall in the entirety of his life. Did he not owe it to her to hear her out?

Disturbed by this new path his thoughts had been taking since encountering her, Lucius picked up the book on top and holding it in his hands, hesitating a moment, he sat down slowly in the chair and began to read...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that little peak into how Lucius' attitudes are shifting and how Hermione is affecting him. The books mentioned are generic and made up, but the excerpt Lucius reads is borrowed from a real book published in 2010 by Richard E Simmons “The True Measure of a Man: How Perceptions of Success, Achievement and Recognition Fail Men in Difficult Times”


	18. Archaic Traditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets results for Lucius; She and Ron disagree about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a transition “characters getting their bearings” chapter. You’re probably going to be annoyed lol. I apologize. But we get to see what Hermione was working out with Kingsley (kudos to the ones that worked it out!) and we’re going to move the plot along in this chapter a bit as well and see how things are starting to shape up. This will be another two for one chapter because I didn't want you to wait too long for Lucius and Hermione to be together again which will be the chapter after next. ;)

_“When we don't talk. When we don't touch.  
When it doesn't feel like we're even in love.  
It matters to me.  
When I don't know what to say. Don't know what to do.  
Don't know if it really even matters to you.  
How can I make you see?  
It matters to me.”_   
**“It Matters to Me”, by Faith Hill**

**June 13th, 2000**

**“Heads Roll at Ministry and Hospital! Minister Shacklebolt Vows No Tolerance for Corruption.”**

_Many ministry officials and employees were left stunned when unexpected and sweeping termination notices were sent out just yesterday as a result of an unspecified incident indicting multiple department heads and including one entire committee for dereliction of duty. At last count 27 employees were fired at both the Ministry of Magic and St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies. While the minister could not be reached for comment directly, his assistant confirmed that more are likely to follow._

_Two of the most striking and disruptive firings are Madam Abigail Pershing, the assistant director of St. Mungo’s Hospital, and Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office. Harry Potter has been installed as interim Head Auror, and no word yet who will replace Madame Pershing._

_The incident is confined to a closed file for unknown reasons, the details and specifics of what drove this mass firing and investigation therefore unknown to the Prophet and a gag order is in effect on the accused. Ministry contacts did not say if there would be criminal charges in addition to employment termination._

_Theories can be guessed at however given Minister Shacklebolt’s one and only public statement on the matter. “Let me be abundantly clear that mine is not an administration that will allow anyone entrusted with power to pick and choose which laws to enforce and for whom, regardless of the individual in question.”_

Hermione set the paper aside with a smug and very self-satisfied smirk and leaned back at the kitchen table nursing her cup of tea. It really was such a lovely article to wake up to and this was the fifth time she’d read it today. She sent up a silent breath of thanks that Kingsley had managed to keep her and Lucius’ names out of the papers and reports. He had gone above and beyond, truly. She wasn’t sure how much he could do when she met with him and explained everything that had happened, but Kinglsey had been indignant and enraged when she laid out the specifics, and asked if she still had all the letters she had received in response to her many requests for intervention. 

_“We absolutely cannot have this. These secrecy bylaws especially in handling injured and stranded wizards are there for a reason! Many reasons.”_

_“I know I should have come to you with this sooner.” Hermione had confessed. “But I know you’ve been dealing with so much fallout already…”_

_But Kingsley only shook his head. “This is too important. I’m glad you brought this to me. And given your story, I’ll see to your special request as well. I think it's the right thing to do.”_

_Hermione gaped a moment in disbelief. “Th-thank you, Kingsley! I don’t know what to say, that means more to me than I can tell you.”_

_“Your word is good enough for me, Hermione.” the sinister told her as he escorted her to the door. “If you say he deserves it, I’ll see it done. And this,” he waved the stack of her letters. “Will be dealt with and will never happen to anyone again. You can be sure of that.”_

That ‘special request’ was likely to have already been carried out. She had asked that Lucius not be told why the ministry had reversed their decision on him possessing his wand. Given the brief conversation she’d had with him when she visited him last week at his townhouse, he might not take her interference as intended… Was it selfish to involve herself merely to ease her own guilt? Maybe. But it would do Lucius some good for his trouble, and the firings at the ministry would prevent others from being abused and endangered. The fact it had eased her mind knowing he was safer and less exposed to danger with his wand returned was merely icing on the already satisfying cake. 

However, she reflected grimly, it hadn’t done much to remove Lucius from her thoughts. She had smiled a bit too broadly for her own conscience and comfort when an owl arrived the day before with a letter and she recognized his writing, though steadier and surer. 

_“Hermione. Please forgive the ungentlemanly delay in returning your note. I was intrigued by the things you sent and began reading them when they arrived. I thank you… deeply and without words adequate to say how much your thoughtful gesture was appreciated. Sincerely yours, Lucius.”_

It was a short message, but it had pleased her greatly and she wondered if he’d truly given the books that she’d chosen true attention or if he was simply being polite…

“Hey ‘Mione, ready to go?” Ron came in dressed in only his pants and aggressively toweling his shower dampened hair.

Hermione looked up and nodded, “Mhm. Ready.” she answered, folding the paper and placing it back on the table. 

“Ah, I saw that article this morning.” Ron said, nodding towards the paper. “Crazy stuff. That's why I’m so late. The Auror office was chaos, but Harry got it all under control.”

“I’m sure he did.” Hermione acknowledged as Ron poured a glass of lemonade and gulped it down. “But you can slow down a bit, we’re not due at Dean and Padma’s for another 20 minutes.”

Ron magicked his hair dry the rest of the way and tossed the towel down the hallway towards the laundry and Hermione suppressed an annoyed grimace as it handed in a heap on the floor. “Didn’t you want to walk, though?”

“Well, we can floo there, and walk home, it’ll be cooler anyway.” Hermione suggested.

“Alright, thanks.” Ron gave her a rushed peck on the cheek and half jogged back to the bedroom.

Hermione crossed the room and took Rose from her bassinet to nurse her once more before they departed and then carried her about the flat as she double checked her backpack style nappy bag. She sighed as she closed it up and stored it under the pram. She didn’t mind Ron and Harry’s friends like Seamus and Dean and their extended circle. She wasn’t as close with them all as they were but didn’t object to their company. She liked them really, and she got along with Hannah and the Patil sisters and of course Neville. But she hadn’t felt up to a party just yet so soon after Rose’s birth. Magic alleviated most problems, but it couldn’t solve everything, especially the exhaustion of accustoming oneself to a newborn. 

But it was Dean’s birthday, and she did want to see her friends in a non-work or emergency setting, so she rallied. Bag ready, Rose tucked in her navy-blue pram, Hermione waited by the fireplace. Ron came out soon, dressed in jeans and a dark grey t-shirt, holding a wrapped package. “Alright. All good.” he said a bit breathlessly. “Made it.”

Hermione smiled indulgently as he reached up and grabbed floo powder, but he paused as she stepped into the shallow space. “What is it?” she asked.

Ron was looking at her quizzically like he’d just noticed her. “You look nice, Hermione.”

Hermione ran a hand down the black palazzo style pants and matching off the shoulder blouse. Giving her loose and barely tamed curls a nervous fluff, she blushed. “Thanks, Ron.” Compliments weren’t always forthcoming from Ronald, but she didn’t believe he was deliberately negligent in it… and they were always nice to hear. 

They stepped through the floo into a small but modern apartment. The open floorplan made the small area seem spacious, and the first thing Hermione saw was Harry, Ginny, Neville and Hannah sitting comfortably on a sectional, board games littering a coffee table in between them, baby James crawling after a fluttering snitch in a conjured play yard. Dean and Seamus were currently standing by a bookshelf holding a sports book, Seamus gesturing triumphantly while Dean shoved it with a grumble back on the shelf, Seamus obviously having been victorious in some sports related disagreement. All looked up, calling out enthusiastic greetings, as Ron, Hermione and Rose came through, a radio playing quiet pop music from a muggle station.

“Ron! Hermione!” Dean smiled and crossed the room, shaking Ron’s hand and slapping him on the back. “Great you could come, thanks!”

“Happy Birthday mate.” Ron said, passing over the package.

“Hey thanks.” Dean said, placing it on a small slender table near the fireplace with a few other packages. 

“Yes, happy birthday!” Hermione greeted him. “And housewarming, how do you and Padma like this part of London?”

“Its great!” Dean said as they moved further into the apartment. “Quieter than downtown, magical Britain’s just a floo away, and just a few minutes from my job at the muggle paper.”

“Two jobs, wizard and magical world.” Ron shook his head, “Your crazy, Dean. I’d get them confused and end up sending the wrong cartoon to the wrong paper.”

“Hello, hello!” Parvati waved exuberantly from the sleek kitchen where she was arranging party snacks on the bar height counter, and Padma was bent over peering at something in the oven. 

“Parvati, nice to see you!” Hermione smiled. She knew Parvati and Seamus had only recently started dating, and even more recently stopped dating, but the two had been coexisting rather civilly and peacefully, especially important since her sister was living with Seamus’ best friend.

The hostess then backed out of the oven carrying a large tray of small baked triangles with two oversized potholders. “Hi Ron! Hi Hermione!” she said, her flawless copper toned face flushed, dark hair slightly askew, her sister brushing at the strands escaping her plait as Padma set the baking tray down.

“Hello ladies.” Ron said, smirking appreciatively. Hermione rolled her eyes but said nothing. She had long since stopped being offended every time Ron gave an approving look at other women and the Patil twins had always caught his eye, grown as they had into maturity and grace. They were particularly attractive this evening, matching casual cocktail dresses, Parvati’s’ dark royal blue and silver lacing, Padma’s an emerald green and gold embroidery.

In fact, why had she ever felt guilty about finding Lucius attractive? She was just being unforgivably silly. Since when had she not been able to acknowledge a handsome man, and since when had Ron ever been able to keep his eyes in his head when a pretty girl went by? Why should Lucius be any different than glancing an attractive man on a magazine cover?

_Stop it right now._ She warned herself. The last thing she needed was to start picturing Lucius Malfoy as a centerfold. 

She moved towards the sitting area, leaving the pram by the fireplace and taking Rose from her nest, waving to Seamus as he commandeered Ron’s attention, something about settling an argument between him and Dean. Harry was talking animatedly with Neville as Hannah snickered at Ginny knowingly. Ginny, for her part, was leaning back on the couch, her feet up on an ottoman.

“Hermione!” Ginny said, moving to sit up. 

“No, no! Stay.” Hermione admonished her, leaning down to give her a peck on the cheek before sitting across from her next to Harry. 

“Thanks.” Ginny smirked. “Merlin knows it’ll take me ten minutes just to get upright.”

“Yeah, how many months pregnant are you?” Hannah said, “Thirteen?”

“Funny. Seven.” Ginny said, 

“Harry was just telling me about everything that went down in the Auror office this week.” Neville said, tapping his fingers against a bottle of butterbeer. “Figures. Things get interesting just when I go to be a herbology professor!”

“HmMm.” Harry shook his head, shifting over as Ron sat down on the other side of him. “Not just the Auror office the whole bloody ministry.”

“Will you be going back to the ministry, Hermione?” Hannah queried, crossing her legs with a toss of her long blonde hair. 

“I will.” Hermione shifted Rose more comfortably in her arms, “I was prepared to use a muggle daycare, but Ron’s mother insisted. I’ve got some leave still though.”

“Molly is going to have her hands full. James, Victoire, Rose, and now Albus on the way.” Harry said. “But I guess he’s used to the chaos of a busy house.”

“Oh no, you didn’t hear. Fleur isn’t going back to work anymore. She’s going to wait a few years before going back to the bank.” Ron told him.

“Well, that's one down.” Harry shrugged.

“After everything being so crazy for years, I don’t think I’d want to work at the ministry, so more power to you.” Hannah waved a hand. “I’m happy as a landlady.”

“Business good at the Cauldron?” Ginny asked. 

“Yes, actually it is. I’ve been redoing the common areas, they looked so banged up.” Hannah answered.

“Alright, alright.” Padma sauntered over, carrying a platter of baked pastry looking things and a bowl of red dip. “No more work talk, have some Samoas.”

Hannah, Neville and Ginny eagerly took a sampling, Seamus looked at the bowl suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“Gunpowder chutney.” she said,

“No thanks, red means spicy. Dean, she’s really got you eating this stuff?” Seamus asked, jokingly.

Dean sat down in the nearby recliner after taking one from the platter and popping it in his mouth defiantly.

“Don’t worry you big babies.” Parvati chimed in, coming in behind her sister and setting another plate of kebabs on the coffee table. “There’s boring food too, and we ordered take away pizza from the muggle bistro down the block.”

“I don’t care what color it is, pass it.” Ron said, leaning forward and taking a second after he’d inhaled the first. 

“Ditto.” Harry said, mouth full. “God I’m starving.” 

“Long day for all of you I guess.” Padma acknowledged. “Fortunately, my area in potions at the hospital wasn’t upended too bad. Only a couple people got fired but they didn’t tell us what for.”

“It was insane, since the head of the department was one of the firings. Everyone rushed in, no one ate lunch, there was so much to straighten out---”

“Well, there goes the conversation again.” Hannah smiled, “Hermione if they’re going on about the ministry again, you give me that gorgeous baby and go get some refreshments!” 

Hermione smiled in return and relinquished Rose to the blonde, who tickled her belly, rubbing noses with her as she lifted her.

Hermione stood up and moved away hearing them speaking of the changes to the ministry and hospital again as she crossed to the counter and picked up a plate and started selecting a few things. She was humming absentmindedly, filling the little paper plate with bits of vegetable, cucumber sandwiches and fried prawns and didn’t hear Harry following behind until he was at her elbow whispering in her ear.

“Speaking of the ministry…” Harry said quietly. “I don’t suppose you know anything about what happened.”

Hermione glanced up as Harry picked up a plate and started selecting some appetizers. “Would it matter?”

“Well. Hypothetically if you did have something to do with the investigation and were therefore hypothetically interested in what went down, you should know your… new friend… wasn’t the only one they were mistreating but that led to a slew of other discoveries. Potion tampering, intentional misdiagnosis, overcharging for treatment, manipulating schedules to delay treatment for certain people.”

“Oh my god.” Hermione couldn’t help a disgusted curl of her lip.

“Yeah, and all kinds of stuff in the Law Enforcement department too.”

Hermione nodded but didn’t say anything. Ron was already still annoyed that she’d gone to see Lucius the other week, and she didn’t want another fight. But if they had done what they had to Lucius to others, then she was even more pleased she’d lost her temper and contacted Kingsley. 

“You’ve kind of been going out of your way for him, Hermione.”

Harry had cast a glance backward at Ron who was engaged in animated conversation with the Patil twins. They both knew who him was, but Harry was smart, or at least just considerate enough, not to say his name and risk attracting attention. 

“Yeah but he’s good now.” Hermione huffed. 

“And you?” Harry asked pointedly. “You’re good too?”

She nodded, picking up a can of pop. “Yeah. Me too. I think I’m… finally coming down off it all, you know.”

“Well.” Harry said, turning and leaning casually against the counter. “You should also know I had a contact in the muggle police. Squib brother of one of my aurors, and you’re in the clear. Both of you. There wasn’t any fallout from the hospital escapade. You weren’t recognized on the security footage and it may have… mysteriously disappeared. And I guess they didn’t deem it important enough to put a whole lot of effort into finding and identifying your… friend. Just stay out of muggle hospitals and police stations okay?”

Hermione was momentarily stunned to speechlessness. “Thanks Harry.”

“Don’t mention it.” he said. “No really. Because I broke a few laws making the evidence disappear.”

Hermione gave a short breathy laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nodding once, Harry led the way back to the group who were still chatting, eating and arguing about which board game to start first. Ginny was in the middle of a conversation with Hannah when she sat back down, Rose still content being held by Hannah. 

“We decided on a name, Albus Severus.”

Hannah beamed. “Oh Ginny, I think that’s wonderful.”

“Another one after him?” Hermione grinned.

“Oh no. We’re waiting awhile! So, I told Harry to keep it in his pants until I’ve been on the potions for at least a few months this time.” Ginny chuckled.

Hermione and Hannah laughed as Harry shot teasing glaring daggers over the coffee table at his wife. Though both boys were a surprise, Ginny had seemed to take it in stride, the very opposite of Hermione who had panicked over her own surprise pregnancy. It seemed Ginny would have the same fertile fortune as her mother. A fact that always elicited a paling of Harry’s face by several shades and a stern eye roll from Ginny whenever it was mentioned.

Padma spoke up from where she was perched on the arm of Dean’s chair, absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder. “What are you doing now, Ginny?”

“I’m doing sports writing for the Prophet right now.” Ginny explained. “But what I really want is to try out for the Holyhead Harpies--”

“Shh! Mum will hear you from here!” Ron shushed playfully.

Ginny reached down beside the chair to grab hold of a throw pillow and sent it sailing through the air at Ron’s face as he laughed. 

“Doesn’t approve of the plan?” Parvati surmised from where she was leaning against the back of the couch. 

Hermione took Rose from Hannah as she began to squirm and fuss, and looked at Ginny, wondering if she’d divulge the story. Ginny had vented to her on many occasions over the last two years over her and her mother’s disagreements over what she should do. Playing for the Harpies had always been a dream of hers, put on hold in favor of sports writing when she’d gotten news of her honeymoon baby. Molly on the other hand didn’t see the appeal of playing for a sports team, especially after having children and hadn’t been shy in telling her only daughter as much. 

“I mean honestly, I’d be home _more_ if I was playing quidditch!” Ginny continued after several moments of highlighting the many rows over the topic. “Games occasionally, practice a few times a week and then I’m with James and Albus the rest of the time.” Ginny cleared her throat and to the snickering laughter of the others, adopted a fine imitation of her mother. _“But it's dangerous, she says, you’ll leave your children motherless._ Harry’s an Auror, but that's different apparently. I asked her once, why, because I’m a woman. She actually said yes!” she threw her hands up in the air in frustration. “Gah, I don’t want to talk about it. Change the subject. Parvati, have you heard from Luna?”

Parvati moved to sit down on the floor cross legged on the other side of the low table. “Yes! She and Rolf Scamander are in Bulgaria now.”

“They’ve been travelling for a while now, haven’t they?” Harry said.

“Yeah but they’re both loving it.” Parvati said, popping a prawn in her mouth. “She wants fresh material for when she comes back to help run the Quibbler.”

“Caught the Crumple Horned Snorcack yet?” Hermione joked.

“Always a step behind!” Parvati smiled. “What a wedding ceremony for those two though.”

“Ceremony?” Ron said, “Forget that, I heard he proposed with a ring in a frozen ash winder egg.”

“That’s so weird.” Dean chuckled. 

“Ugh, and not true.” Parvati scoffed.

“That’s Rolf and Luna.” Padma shrugged. “Speaking of weddings, when are you and Hermione getting married, Ron.”

Hermione looked up to see Dean subtly nudge Padma disapprovingly, and Ron’s expression immediately turned stormy, but he said nothing, just taking a sip of pop with an awkward glance from Harry. 

“We’re… not quite there yet.” Hermione answered instead. 

“So,” Seamus snorted, “He’s not making an honest woman of you yet?”

“Hey, so how about that muggle football game last weekend, Dean?” Ginny cut in, “Is it true there was a brawl?”

“Oh yeah, that was the subject of my cartoon at the muggle paper.” Dean grinned.

And thus, the conversation was quickly redirected. The evening went on without drama, but Hermione knew that lost in the familiar din of small talk, Ron was low key sulking. He had matured enough not to ruin the evening for his friend, but she knew she’d get an earful later. Or the cold shoulder. 

True to her theory, through food, games and music, Ron grew more and more sullen. When it came time to go, and Hermione had placed Rose in her pram, they made their way down the lifts and onto the dark street and cool summer evening air. But Ron hadn't said anything. 

Hermione thought perhaps he’d let it go and simply tried to enjoy the walk. It would take only about a half an hour to walk from Dean and Padma’s apartment complex to theirs and the fresh air, darkness and repetitive turn of the pram wheels quickly lulled Rose into a relaxed sleep. The tentative peace however was broken when Ron suddenly swiveled his head towards her as they walked. 

“Why _won’t_ you marry me?” he demanded.

“I swear.” Hermione grumbled, “I’m getting one of those white board calendars to hang in the kitchen. “Days since major argument.”

“So, my feelings are just an inconvenient joke to you?” he asked, face contorted with derision.

“ _No_ , Ron. But this happens every time the subject comes up, no matter how vague.” she said, “Then you get mad and sooner or later end up mad at me and usually yelling about it.”

“I’m not-” he raised his voice and she scowled at him and he stopped, looking down at Rose. “I’m not yelling. It’s just a bit frustrating.”

“I’m sorry, Ron.” she said genuinely. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”

“Then why?” he repeated.

“Ron, are you forgetting the whole reason we took a break was because you cheated on me with Lavender ---”

“It was _one_ time, ‘Mione ---”

“--- And you only came back because I found out I was pregnant ---”

“--And I said I was sorry!”

“Well that doesn't make it all disappear!” Hermione hissed.

Rose stirred but didn’t wake up so with a sigh, Hermione took her wand and cast a charm over her pram before jabbing the wand back in her pocket. 

“I know.” Ron said stiffly after a few moments of silence. “And I’m sorry. Ok, it was dumb. I was still dealing with shit from the war and stressed over how crazy that first year in the Auror office was, and you were back at school with no time for me.”

“I was going through things too, Ron.” Hermione said. “Only I didn’t jump into bed with someone to deal with it.”

“You’re right.” he said. “I should have just talked to you about how I felt instead of being with Lavender.”

“But she made you feel important and I didn’t.” she ground out regretfully.

“Yeah.” Ron admitted a bit sheepishly, sliding his hands in his pockets. “But we’ve worked through a lot, Hermione. I thought we did. We’re in a better place now, aren’t we?”

Hermione thought back on all the nights spent fighting, drinking alone, crying, screaming… They certainly had had a lot to deal with once they’d realized she was pregnant and that regardless they were going to be a part of each other’s lives. Yes, he’d apologized. Yes, she’d come home to him, regretful and desperate to win her back, but that didn’t change the baggage. Her feeling betrayed and once again, the second choice and last resort, Ron feeling like he was back seat to her job and ambitions…

“Yes.” she allowed. “We _have_ been better.”

“Then why?” he repeated a third time. He gestured back aggressively the direction they came. “I mean you heard Seamus back there, you think that's just him?”

“Seamus was joking.” Hermione shook her head.

“The rest of the world isn’t.” Ron grumbled. 

“I’m sorry.” Hermione snapped. “Is this about wanting to marry me because you love me, or your ego?”

“At this point?” he asked, “Both, if I’m being’ honest. It’s humiliating, ok? That’s what they all think of me, that I’m just some deadbeat lay about too immature to do right by a woman.”

“And they think I’m some attention seeking slag stringing you along!” Hermione said, “But I don’t blame you, not that you make it easy with your constant quips about me being fickle!”

“Oh, and _you_ make it easy?” Ron challenged. “You’ve always got to have things your way. You don’t want to get married. You didn’t even want kids. So, we didn’t _agree_ on _anything_ you’d already decided for both of us.”

“Well, I’m sorry Ron.” she answered dryly. “But there’s no compromise possible on whether or not to get married or whether to have children. It's a yes or no. And it’s not like this is my way, lots of people feel this way. Women have babies without getting married all the time. What matters is if the parents are---”

“Well, not lots of women _here_ , Hermione!” he interrupted hotly. “Yeah, you’re a muggleborn but you're a witch too! And we have to live in this world and you’re just making it harder. I mean, what do you want? Rushing the kids to daycare and back, stumbling through the door with takeaway or frozen dinners every night? Am I so crazy for just wanting something normal?”

“Ron.” Hermione sighed. “You have known, you’ve _always_ known, that I wanted to work in the ministry, that I had plans for changing things in this world.”

“Yeah but we have Rose now, and I thought--”

“Thought what exactly?” she asked acidly. 

“Never mind.” he grumbled. 

Hermione gripped the handle of the pram as they continued on their way tightly, her fingers turning white from the force. What was happening with them right now? That old persistent insecurity that she was just an extension of other people returned and burrowed deep. When had it happened? When had she blinked and just become one of the group, an accessory for Ron and sometimes, even to Harry? When had she stopped being her own person to the point the man who was supposed to love her couldn’t even see her through his vision of what was supposed to be?

They had come through a lot. They had a full and dramatic past. But she was desperately trying to carve something out for them that was here and present and new, not dependent on the past. She was _proud_ of her accomplishments, but she didn't want to be _only_ the brightest witch of her age. And she didn’t only want to be “Weasley’s girlfriend” or even only a mum. Why couldn’t she have all of it? 

“Ron I never said I _never_ wanted to get married. Just not now.” she sighed. 

“I just don’t see the point of waiting.” Ron insisted. “We’ve already been living together. We’ve already got the kid. The fighting about chores. The makeup sex…”

“Exactly! So what does marriage change?”

Ron shrugged as if it should be obvious. “It makes it official.”

“Makes _what_ official?” she pressed impatiently. “We’re already living together. What’s the difference? We’ll have the same schedules, the same responsibilities, the same bills. Its not like I’ll be changing my name to Weasley.”

Ron scoffed, clearly affronted. “Wow.”

Hermione huffed in frustration. “Because it's an _archaic_ tradition. Not because I'm ashamed of the name or something, don’t be ridiculous! I just don’t see why a wedding and a ring and a piece of paper should be a requirement for the relationship. Do we get married because it’s what was expected? Assumed? The next box to check off? What does it change for us?”

“Guess nothing.” Ron mumbled bitterly.

Hermione sighed. Was she wrong? Was she still just making him feel less than?

“Ron, I love you. But shouldn’t we get married because we want to, because we're ready, because we're in love, not because we had to or felt compelled to because I had a baby?”

“Well, I suppose you’re the only one who feels _compelled_.” Ron said frostily.

Hermione didn’t know what to tell him and Ron said nothing else, so the rest of the walk passed in uncomfortable silence. She was relieved when they got home and took a deep silent breath when they walked through the door and flicked on the lights. 

As Ron put everything away, Hermione got Rose changed and nursed and lulled back to sleep with a barely finished lullaby. But when she went to the living room, Ron had already sat irritably on the couch and turned on the television, his expression obvious that he was in no mood for company or talking. So with a defeated sigh, Hermione picked up the baby monitor and laid in the dark of their bedroom alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know I know, some of you are probably SO sick of Ron and his stuff already. But remember, to fully embrace Lucius she has to fully let go of Ron and I think as invested as Hermione gets in things, it would be harder for her to do than we might think (or wish!!). She’s got a lot to work out, a lot of back and forth to muddle through. Hang tough! We’ll get through the non-Lumione bits together. Next chapter will be up in a few minutes.


	19. Pariahs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected turn of events unfold and a social invitation arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that this is another two for one chapter. So if you came in on this one, hope back to Chapter 18.

_“Now, I could never change you  
I don't want to blame you.  
Baby, you don't have to take the fall.  
Yes, I may have hurt you,  
But I did not desert you.  
Maybe I just want to have it all.”_   
**”Sometimes Love Ain’t Enough” Patti Smyth and Don Henley**

**June 25, 2000**

It was only days after that night that all of Hermione’s good intentions seemed to blow up in her face. Good gods above, how had it gone so wrong?

At first Hermione didn’t know what was going on. She was in Diagon Alley for coffee and doing some household shopping with Ginny one morning and they both noticed much more looks, whispers and even scowls than usual. It was usually just the older population and assorted groups of Ron’s fangirls giving her dirty looks, but this was over the top. After the entire establishment of the Menagerie fell silent on her entry, Ginny and Hermione had decided to go home, feeling exposed and unsafe with the babies with them… It was only on arriving at home to start going through the post when she realized what all the fuss was about. 

**“Daily Prophet Exclusive: Hermione Granger Throws in With Death Eaters!”**

Rose napping from her morning excursion, Hermione sat in dumbfounded shock at the table staring at the sensational headline, accompanied by a covert picture of she and Kingsley leaving his office. 

_Oh god._

Her heart pounding, her breath coming in ragged panicked waves, Hermione read through line after ridiculous line. Someone had overheard, or deliberately listened in on her conversation with Kingsley. Quotes verbatim, details she’d only shared with him… spin, missing context and theories posed as facts. Panic gave way to rage as she read through the hack job of truth, reading through a cynical retelling of everything she’d gone through and tried to do...

She shook her head in disbelief. It seemed after listening in to her conversation with Kingsley this petty nobody, hungry for a byline had gone searching for corroboration at the hospital and “former staff” as mentioned in the article. Given the fact very few were there when she and Lucius arrived, and even less heard any bit of the story and almost none of them would have done this to her, she could guess the “source” was a bitter and vengeful former assistant director. 

All of it was laid bare. And much to her chagrin and annoyance it seemed Lucius had been right about the outcome. The facts if they could be called that laid out in the most negative and ridiculous way: _“And to finish this astonishing tale for the worse,” she read, “Rumor has it the same disgraced “former” death eater, Lucius Malfoy, is again armed and dangerous, having had his wand returned two years earlier than the courts originally ruled for. One wonders if that was not the angle all along.”_

And that was not even the worst of it, for either of them. With a barely restrained scream of frustration, Hermione crumpled the paper and hurled it across the kitchen. She shot to her feet and paced aggressively, her mind whirling at what to do about this, if indeed anything could be done. Something this intensely personal, private, and traumatic was now fodder for gossip columnists and razor tongued harpies. The circumstances of her daughter’s birth public record. Lucius shredded in the papers undeservedly. Horrible as it all was, it really was an astonishingly impressive talent. To take something that should be positive and good and turn it into something ugly. 

A hot tear of anger trickled surprisingly down her cheek and she wiped at it furiously. What would Lucius think? Would he think she’d gone against his wishes and exposed his involvement? That thought distressed her deeper than she expected. What would Ron think? They had barely scrambled back to a calm normal. He had apologized sheepishly the morning after their fight about marriage, sorry for losing his temper, and they had managed to talk it out. This… this was sure to send him right back into a frenzy. Hermione buried her face in her hands, already dreading it.

What to do?

Trying to calm herself, Hermione sent a short but sincere note to Kingsley apologizing for the backlash he was sure to suffer for granting her this favor. There was another note she had to write, and it was going to be decidedly more difficult to pen…

But before she could, she received an unexpected note from Harry at the window, the owl rushing off without waiting for a response. It was short and quickly scrawled. 

_“Ron will be late. I’m trying to calm him down a bit.”_

Ginny had evidently found the article as well for she rushed back to Hermione’s flat, finding Hermione sitting at the desk in a sea of crumbled parchment of started and discarded letters. It took some convincing but eventually Ginny was satisfied that Hermione was alright and left her to her task of figuring out what to say to the other publicly flogged party.

She was saved from the trouble though as a large Great Horned Owl rapped sharply at the window. Taking the roll of parchment, she unfurled the short note, hurried and unsigned but obviously from Lucius, and the relevant portion of the Prophet article torn out accompanied the letter.

_“Is this true? Not the nonsense part of it. The rest of it. Are you the reason my wand was returned to me?”_

“Wait.” she told the owl, clutching the letter and rushing to the desk. Taking up her pen she wrote a reply.

_“Yes, it’s true. Lucius, I’m so sorry. Someone must have overheard me talking to Kingsley that day and looked into it. Or talked with someone who saw us at St. Mungoes. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I thought it would stay quiet. I wanted you to be able to defend yourself. No one was supposed to find out…”_

The owl waited dutifully but rebuffed her attempts to pat it or give it a treat. Turning its beak up regally the bird waited for its return letter and flew off in a silent huff.

Hermione waited anxiously. She hoped he believed her. In addition to the mistrust and anger from an entire public for returning a weapon to a man they perceived to be dangerous, she didn’t think she could handle frustration from Ron and Lucius. 

But before long the owl returned, and another note relieved at least a bit of her angst. 

_“I know. Think no more of it. You meant well and with the manner of our arrival at St. Mungoes, as you said before… it was inevitable. I will simply claim the right of declaring myself victorious, in that I told you something like this was bound to occur... and gladly leave it at that. Thank you. I am again in your debt. But it is your secrets most exposed. Are you safe?”_

_Think nothing of it,_ he said. Hard to do under the circumstances. One act that was meant to be a kindness, and she’d brought hell down on all of them. Lucius, herself, her family and friends… Honestly, sometimes the wizarding world could just go fuck itself… It was like Rita Skeeter all over again but so much worse.

She wrote back affirmatively, _“I am. I don’t think there’s any danger. I’m still sorting through it. Honestly I have no idea how to deal with this.”_

She did not have to wait long for his response.

_“Take this from a professional pariah. The best option is to do nothing. If you don’t fuel it the fire will eventually die. Stay well.”_

_Do nothing_. She reflected, laying the letter down on the desk. That was always difficult for her. She wanted to rage, she wanted to make someone pay for this disgusting inversion of fact. But he was right. Maybe it _was_ better to just let it die out. 

It was then she heard the floo whoosh with someone’s entry and she looked up, sliding the letter hurriedly under her stack of Jane Austen novels. She didn’t like hiding it, but she knew how it had gone the last time Ron came across a letter between her and Lucius and she didn’t feel like dealing with that on top of everything else today.

“You’re home early.” she said, standing, sliding her hands in the back pocket of her jeans. 

“Couldn’t stand the looks and questions and the ‘hey Weasley what the bloody hell is up with your girlfriend.’” he spat. “So, I took off. Or rather Harry made me go home.”

Hermione took a deep breath to steady her increasingly obvious nerves. “Ron, I’m--”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this?” he asked hotly, picking up the newspaper and shaking it in the air. 

“I didn’t really think it was something to discuss, it was just a ten-minute meeting with Kingsley--”

“Not something to discuss?” he persisted, “Something that affects us both, our family, my job!”

Hermione threw her hands in the air pleadingly. “Ron, I didn’t think it _would_ affect us, or you! Someone was skulking, listening in to our meeting. It was never supposed to get out. I thought it would be a simple thing.”

“Well it _did_ get out!” he grumbled; his face contorted with frustration. “Look at this article! How do you know they’re not right?” he demanded.

Hermione stared at the article blankly. “That, I’m throwing in with death eaters, under the imperius curse and I’m some secret plant by the dark side to undermine the ministry?”

“No!” he said irritably. “About _him_. You’re doing this again, after you said it was done -”

“I said there was no reason for me to see him again,” she clarified hotly.

“I don’t care!” he shouted. “You’re doing this again, going out of your way, again. For _him_ and he could be playing you like a pawn!”

“Of course, they’re not right!” Hermione scoffed angrily, feeling like she’d had this same argument in one form or another three dozen times. “He had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t tell him, and he asked me for nothing!”

“Come on Hermione,” he sneered, “You’ve always been thick when it comes to slimeballs. But he’s a master manipulator! He knew having you in his pocket would benefit him somehow –”

Hermione’s nostrils flared in anger at the insult, but she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It stung, he always tried to hurt when he was angry and apparently this wouldn’t be any different.

“I know you don’t trust him, but I do. I didn’t mean for this to happen, to embarrass you at work, it was supposed to stay between me and Kingsley--”

“He’s using you!” he insisted.

“Oh, please Ron!” she snapped, at her wits end and beyond ready to be done with this argument. “He was half dead and drugged out of his mind in that hospital room, he didn’t have the strength or mental capacity to scheme, and there was certainly no time for it when he first found me. Are you even _hearing_ yourself?”

“Then just tell me one thing. How long is this feeling of obligation going to go on for?”

He obviously didn’t want an answer because he turned away and went to the kitchen, slamming his wallet and a stack of folders she hadn’t seen him come in with on the table, leaving Hermione standing in the living room helplessly. 

Honestly, her meeting with Kingsley had been the end of it for her, or so she thought. She hadn’t contacted Lucius since she left his townhouse aside from the books and this morning about the article. And although he was always at the edge of her mind, and it was usually a pleasant thought, she hadn’t heard from him. She hadn’t expected to. Why would she? Their business was concluded. As companionable and friendly as the depths were that their acquaintance had now been driven to, what further excuse could either of them come up with to see one another again?

None. So as she had told both Ron and Harry, that was the end of it.

But she wasn’t convinced it was borne of any obligation. She genuinely wanted to see Lucius do well, to have something go properly for all that he was trying to change in himself, for all he was trying to process. Was that so wrong? Wanting to forgive and to see someone who the world would have called a lost cause right himself and find something worth living for in life?

But her good intentions had blown up once more, and she hadn’t meant for this to be the consequence. She would give Ron his space and let him drink the beer he was now gulping aggressively in peace. “I’ll be on the terrace if you want to talk.” she said quietly. “Rose is napping… I really am sorry, Ron.”

She didn’t expect a response and he didn't give her one. His anger and words still stinging, she turned and walked out onto the warm sunlit terrace and settled on the lawn chair, crying quietly…

That had been just under two weeks ago and she thought of it all again as she sat in the waiting room with Rose in her sling. The Witch Weekly and Quibbler editions sitting on the table beside her chair reminded her. She had for the most part done as Lucius suggested, which was nothing. But she did go on the record, finding a more honest and sympathetic pen in the two magazines. 

**“Hermione Granger Denies Prophet Allegations”**

She didn’t give them any more details on the actual sequence of events. They didn’t need it blasted about in public anymore. But she did at least make it official and public that Lucius had no idea she was behind his wand being restored to him and that their private business was just that… private. 

Ron had eventually come around and tried to distract her and shield them all from the press and less enthusiastic public. Fortunately, she was still on leave and their house was unknown to most and most people were braver in private and on paper than face to face, so confrontations were few. Eventually the scathing looks lessened. They had even managed to have a passably enjoyable evening without a fight at the midsummer festival the ministry had begun putting on after the war. She and Ron and Rose had joined with Harry and Ginny and James for a night of fun. Anyone in attendance was too busy drinking, eating or focused on the entertainment to take much notice of them, and though Rose was far too young to know what was happening, it was pleasant getting out of the house as a family and watching James take in the sights. 

Now she was sitting in this waiting room, and people with little else to occupy themselves had taken to casting furtive, awkward looks in her direction, wondering if all the gossip and newspaper fodder was right. She ignored them mostly, except for a brief polite nod and smile with Astoria Malfoy who caught her eye when she sat down and tucked a blanket around little Scorpius in the petite grey pram. 

Hermione had been reading for a while as she waited for their appointment and lost track of time until she suddenly saw the wheel of a stroller and two immaculately nyloned and heeled legs in a baby blue skirt and blazer in her field of vision. She looked up as Astoria Malfoy sat primly in the empty chair beside her.

“Hi, Hermione! Can I call you Hermione?”

Hermione looked up from her book in surprise. “Uh… hi Astoria. I mean, yes. Hermione.”

“Oh good.” she said with a smile, tossing her long gleaming brunette hair over her shoulder as she leaned back, her sleek expensive pocketbook perched in her lap. “I do detest all the boring formality.” Astoria suddenly leaned in closer and said quietly. “I thought perhaps sitting with you and acting friendly might silence some of the rumors that my father in law is blackmailing you. Oh!” she said, eyes widening, “Not that I’m forcing friendliness insincerely! No, I _have_ been meaning to talk to you, I know I was behind you in school but… oh I won’t rattle on.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what to do or say. She had had limited interactions with Astoria but all of them pleasant, but they had never been on close speaking terms. But Astoria was far more cheerful and exuberant than she’d have expected from a pureblood, aristocratic, Slytherin but she’d learned by now not to operate under mere expectation.

“It might. Not sure about the rest of the looks though.” Hermione replied,

“Yes, I’ve seen those articles too.” Astoria said, disapprovingly. “Hopeless biddies. I know a bit how you feel. I was criticized for moving so quickly. I was behind Draco in Hogwarts, so it was barely a year after the war that we got married and then; Surprise! Everyone thought I was crazy. Barely waiting to breathe before marrying and having a baby. My mother wanted me to go on to do more, break the mold, she said. But all I wanted was this.” she beamed at the wiggling blonde bundle in the pram in front of them. “But I mean, it was a bit different, I was married after all.” Astoria covered her mouth suddenly. “Oh god, I’m sorry! That was meant to be commiserating and it just came out condescending and bitchy!”

Hermione laughed quietly. “I understand, Astoria, I know what you were trying to say.”

She looked hesitant. “I had another reason to speak with you quietly.”

Hermione looked up intrigued.

“I wanted to thank you.” she said, her eyes soft with emotion.

She blinked at the other woman in genuine confusion. “Thank me?”

“For what you did for Draco's father.”

“Oh… oh!” Hermione said, the pieces clicking. “No, not at all, um… listen it’s a bit hard to explain…”

“Oh, I can imagine! Don’t worry. I don’t wish to pry. Draco told me what you said and then there was that awful hack job in the paper.” she rolled her eyes. “I can read between the lines of that nonsense and get a feel for what really happened.” Astoria looked suddenly sheepish. “I know it wasn’t for our sake, you were just repaying a kindness. Most people would have said he got what he deserved and moved on. So, thank you. Draco is angry with his father right now, but I know my husband. He'd never have forgiven himself if anything had happened to Lucius.”

_Then why didn’t he get his sorry arse in gear instead of me having to go in and smuggle him out in just short of a high-speed police chase?_ Hermione thought more than a bit irritably.

“I can see what you’re feeling.” Astoria smiled “If it makes you feel any better, Draco went to that hospital later that same day, but you had already been there.”

_Prat_. Of course, after he’d all but told her to bugger off and she’d gone and done it herself!

“It does help a bit.” She acknowledged, begrudgingly.

“And…” Astoria said, with a pleased expression, as if she were about to confess a great triumph. “He didn't ignore the plea for help when Dilby arrived!”

Hermione’s brow furrowed at that. “Help?”

“Oh.” Astoria said in what seemed like genuine confusion. “I… you didn’t know?”

“Know?” she repeated, her anxiety definitely piqued. 

“I’m sorry.” Astoria apologized. “Draco, he refused to go see how he was recovering after the fact, so I went, and Lucius said he’d seen you. I just assumed he’d have…” she dropped her voice to such a whisper, that Hermione nearly had to read her lips. “Lucius’ healer tried to kill him.”

“What?!” Hermione said shrilly. 

Astoria waved her hands in a shushing gesture as Hermione’s outburst attracted sudden looks. 

“Yes.” Astoria continued quietly. “Tampered with the potions that were supposed to finish the work and he was nearly dead with a blood infection when Draco got there. He didn’t stay but… he brewed some potions himself and got a real healer. He was in a state when he came home. Draco may say he doesn’t care but… he does.” 

Hermione was beyond frustrated. The fever, the weakness. Oh, it was the potion alright. The potion purging his body of deadly infection brought on by sabotage! He’d neglected to mention that bit!

She briefly considered writing to Lucius. But she decided against it. For whatever reason he'd chosen not to confide in her. Really, she shouldn't expect anything different. He didn’t owe her the truth on his medical condition. That's what her head said, but she felt something altogether different…

Astoria was watching her curiously a moment before speaking. “Hermione… I… I know this is out of nowhere, but would you be opposed to me writing to you to arrange playdates for our little ones as they grow?” she smiled brilliantly. “I’d love for him to have a… well, a more diverse group of friends than I did.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say, the sudden turn into another topic catching her off guard, and little time to consider it. “Sure, Astoria, that would be great.”

It was an odd afternoon to be sure. But Hermione was even more surprised when barely a week later, as Ginny and Harry were having tea with she and Ron that Saturday when a rather regal looking snowy owl appeared at the window with a very official looking envelope in its beak. Curious, Hermione set aside her teacup as Ginny and the boys continued chatting and opened the window. 

It was addressed to both she and Ron and the address showed it to be from Astoria. Surprised, eyebrow arched, Hermione broke the dark blue seal and pulled the enclosed invitation out. The expensive folded parchment was dark, like the night sky, a winking constellation decorating its cover, and in sparkling silver calligraphy the purpose of its arrival gleamed back at her. 

**“You are cordially invited to a ball in celebration of the naming ceremony and public declaration of Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.”**

As Hermione opened it, the constellation rose from the page in a burst of glittering stars in front of her before vanishing. Inside were the details of an elegant honorary ball and Hermione looked up in confusion as Ginny piped up from the couch.

“Oh, is that the invitation for the ball for Scorpius?”

“It is.” she said distractedly, turning the invitation over and reading it again. 

“Ginny and I got one too.” Harry said, leaning back on the couch, arm slung over the back behind his wife. 

“I barely know Astoria.” Hermione replied perplexed as she set the invitation on the table and sat down, returning to her teacup. 

“Oh, basically the whole country would be getting one.” Ginny waved a hand dismissively. “Old school wealthy wizarding family thing. Introducing a child to society, stuff like that. We’re going to go, appearances and cooperation in moving forward and blah blah blah.”

Hermione smirked as Ginny mimed talking with her hands. 

“Looks bad if you don’t.” she leaned forward conspiratorially. “Basically, punishment for Harry being head of a department now.”

Hermione laughed as Harry pinched Ginny playfully. As the other three launched into an irreverent discussion on such practices Hermione considered the invitation silently. A ball at Malfoy Manor, for Scorpius. There were a hundred or more reasons she shouldn’t go. Lucius could be there. It might be awkward with Ron. Ron hated these kinds of events anyway. She was already not public favorite number one; it might be frustrating. She’d have to leave Rose for an evening. She wouldn’t likely know anyone there… But... it would be polite to attend and it could be Astoria’s way of making inroads for future playdates. And Molly never balked at a chance to have her grandchildren...

Yes, she decided, taking a sip of her tea. She _would_ go. And she told herself firmly that her acceptance had nothing to do with a tall, blonde, silver eyed wizard...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is a long one…. And chock full of Lumione. ;) Stay tuned lovelies! I think you’re going to like it!


	20. A Ballroom or a Battlefield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione attends the naming ceremony ball where the sight of Lucius stirs confusing thoughts and feelings. Lucius feels he is losing control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun with this chapter! But I had to stop or I was never going to finish and get it posted lol. I hope you enjoy it! Pour some wine, stir up a bubble bath and enjoy the drama, the bonding and a little bit of unapologetic fluffiness sprinkled in. We’re all stressed and deserve a little fluff, right? There will be another chapter posted in a few days, its nearly finished but there was no way I could fit the entire ball into a manageable chapter. So there is more sparks, more drama, more Lumione coming your way so stay tuned!

"I want a man that stands beside me.  
Not in front of or behind me.  
Give me two arms that want to hold me, not own me.  
And I'll give all the love in my heart.  
Stand beside me.  
Be true, don't tell lies to me.  
I'm not looking for a fantasy.  
I want a man that who stands beside me."  
"Stand Beside Me" by Jo Dee Messina

15 July 2000

Hermione had tried for weeks to convince Ronald to attend the naming ceremony ball for Scorpius with her. But, as she had suspected it would, her effort proved fruitless. Admittedly she had made it sound as if she were looking forward to an evening out, an excuse to dress up and dance, and wanted him to join her. But it had more to do with the fact that it was going to be her first time at Malfoy Manor since she was tortured by Bellatrix and she could have done with his support. She could have come out and said as much but it felt slightly manipulative, and at least Harry and Ginny would be there. So she wouldn’t be left completely to her own devices and she could handle one night in a different wing of the house in a crowd of people… some of them friendly. There was no need to try and force Ron to do something he so very clearly didn’t wish to do.

“You look happy.” Ron grumbled that night as she stood in front of the mirror in their bedroom, putting finishing touches on her appearance. 

“Well,” Hermione confessed, running her hands down to smooth the midnight blue evening dress. “It IS nice to finally get out. I just wish it was together. It's not too late to change your mind.” she turned towards him for one last attempt. “It was addressed to both of us, Harry and Ginny are going, and your mother offered to watch all the kids.”  
Ron scoffed from his place on the bed, shirtless save his jeans, ankles crossed languidly, flipping through the sports section of the Prophet. “I’m not going to any black tie event at Malfoy Manor. Might just catch up on some papers or work out when Rose falls asleep.”

“It just feels wrong to go out for an evening with you here with Rose.” she admitted, biting her lip in anxiety. 

Ron gave her a slightly amused look. “It’s not like you’re making Cinderella stay home from the ball and clean the chimney, I volunteered.” he waved his hand, “Go have fun, I’ll be happier here, I promise.”

Hermione clicked her tongue thoughtfully. “Alright.” she conceded picking up her handbag charmed to match her dress and the small silver paper wrapped package. “Well, there's plenty of milk in the fridge. One charm does it to warm it, and I just nursed her before she fell asleep.”

With a distracted noise from Ron that she took as affirmation, Hermione gave her reflection a last once over and then walked out to floo to Grimmauld Place. She arrived in the cleaner and more brightly decorated foyer of the formerly run down town house just as Harry, in flattering formal dress robes, was escorting Ginny down the stairs. Her friend’s gorgeous flowing kelly green ball gown and gold trim with a high waist flattered both her nearly ready-to-pop belly and her flaming red hair. 

“Ginny you look gorgeous!” Hermione complimented as her friend met her gaze, “Harry, your hair is a mess, as always.”

Harry shrugged and Ginny rolled her eyes. “It’s hopeless really.” Ginny said with a smile as they reached the bottom. “You look great too, Hermione, didn’t I tell you that was the one?”

Hermione looked down at the dark gown again. For her own self consciousness she had chosen a gently and subtly flaring skirt, a slightly higher fit on the hips and a tight but modestly cut bust with silver embroidery. Her belly was a bit softer now after having Rose after all. But Ginny’s guidance on an appropriate style had been invaluable. There was much about pureblood culture and tradition she didn’t know or understand and this was no exception, and though she’d done a plethora of whirlwind research in true Hermione Granger fashion, she unabashedly grilled Ginny on all things naming ceremonies. 

“Thank you, yes, when you’re right, you’re right.” Hermione smiled,

“Alright alright, yeah everyone looks gorgeous, can we go?” Harry said gesturing towards the door. “Even with a magical car, it's a drive. Sooner we get there the sooner we can leave.”

Ginny exchanged an amused but long suffering look with Hermione as they preceded Harry into the warm air, and clear evening sky. Most magical travel was out of the question for Ginny at this point in her pregnancy so Harry rented a car service and a sleek black town car awaited them. Hermione thought they were in for a cozy drive until Harry handed Hermione and then Ginny into the car. Hermione slid so Ginny didn’t have to and was mildly surprised at the charmed interior, the slim unassuming outside of the car clearly deceptive. The inside was spacious and comfortable and Ginny lounged on the limo style seating with a sigh.

“You’re a god among men, Harry Potter.” Ginny said, closing her eyes and leaning back as Harry climbed in beside Hermione and shut the door. “And if I wasn’t the size of a beached whale I’d do you right here for renting this.”

“Now now.” Harry said as Hermione made a face of mock disgust and snickered. “Not in front of Hermione, audiences aren’t my kink.”

“Wouldn’t care.” Ginny said unabashedly, not opening her eyes. “This is heavenly.”

“Better than the Knight Bus in any case.” Harry said, turning and rapping on the tinted glass partition. 

At Harry’s signal, the driver started their journey and Hermione gripped the seat in a reflexive start as they sped off at a magically enhanced travel, the surroundings blurring by through the darkened windows. She settled in her own seat, viewing the rather posh interior. Harry had never been flashy with his considerable wealth but where Ginny was concerned, there was absolutely no cost too much…

“This really is nice, Harry.” Hermione said, “Thanks for letting me go with you.”

“Ugh don’t be ridiculous.” Harry said, “Of course you should come with us, you can’t arrive alone. That's just wrong.”

Hermione smiled and Ginny snorted. “My brother is a wanker for not coming. You look great, he should have come, he’s missing out.”

Hermione shrugged. While it would have been nice to have a real evening out, having Ron pressured into it and miserable would have been worse. “Maybe I’ll let him see what I've got on underneath later.”

Ginny’s eyes flew open and she straightened, her eyes dancing in amusement. “Did Hermione Granger just make a sex joke? I am speechless!”

Harry laughed and Hermione grinned foolishly. She really did feel light and airy. She had worried about her first real stretch of time away from Rose but she was actually looking forward to the night ahead. 

“It gets better.” Harry said, taking his wand from his sleeve, and tapping what Hermione had assumed was an arm rest beneath the window. But as his wand touched the leather, the top popped open and out floated a small table, arranging itself in the space between the seats, and a modest charcuterie tray drifted to the smooth table top with chilled wine, sparkling water and butterbeers.

“And.” Harry added triumphantly waving his wand and another bottle and small bag floated out and landed in Ginny’s excited hand. “Pre-equipped with the root beer and ginger snaps you like.”

“Take your pants off right now.” Ginny said, popping open the bag and moaning as she placed the ginger cookie in her mouth. 

“Should I just go ahead and put a muffliato on you two now, then?” Hermione teased.

“Oh, I’ll behave.” Ginny acquiesced with a grumble, leaning back in her chair, “These settle my stomach though.” she gestured with the rootbeer to Hermione. “I haven't had any nausea in ages but car rides do me in.”

“Are you feeling up to this Ginny?” Hermione asked. 

“Oh I’ll be fine.” she answered, taking a sip of the rootbeer. “I need to get out, even if it is a Malfoy event and all I’ll be doing is sitting and eating. When was the last time we went out somewhere classy, Harry?” Harry only shrugged and Ginny waved a hand. “Well, in any case. Even if Harry didn’t have to go for appearances sake, I’d want to go. I really like Astoria. She approached me in the baby boutique about play dates for Scorpius and James.”

“Same.” Hermione said, 

“What do you think of her?” Harry asked. 

“Astoria is…” Hermione searched for the right word. “Unexpectedly upbeat.”

Ginny laughed. “A bit exuberant compared to the stuffier pureblood specimens. I got to know her a bit, we were in the same remedial study hall hour catching up from the shit show the Moldy Voldy year was..”

The three friends passed the time of the drive in easy conversation and before long, the car came to a smooth stop on a heavily wooded country lane beside a tall hedgerow. Wiltshire boasted a picturesque landscape, easy to see as they exited the car, and tonight there were clear skies and no foreboding fog to obscure it. They were not the only ones arriving thus, as several dozen cars and carriages were parked along the lane and Harry extended an arm to both Ginny and Hermione as they made their way to the landscaped gravel walkway. 

“Are you ok, Hermione?” Harry asked quietly, as they made their way up the lane.

“Oh, yes.” Hermione said, her cheeks flushing. “Don’t worry about me.”

Harry nodded and said no more and Hermione looked up at the tall imposing form of the manor house rising forcefully from the darkness. She shouldn’t have worried. The ambiance was absolutely transformed. Long strands of twinkling garland were strung elegantly through the tall hedgerows casting a warm glow across the lane and the manor house was equally well lighted, its fearful spires and sharp cuts of diamond pane glass illuminated pleasantly. The ornate iron gates were open, and there was music playing somewhere outside beyond the hedgerow and she could hear laughter around the unseen fountains where guests seemed to be milling about. It was the precise opposite of the haunting specter she had recalled from before.

Hermione studied her surroundings, heart pounding as they stepped up the short stretch of stone stairs and through the already open door. 

“Are we in the right place?” Hermione asked leaning in towards Harry.

Harry glanced at her seeming equally surprised. It had seldom been this place that haunted her nightmares and daydreams. But the feel, and the visage of Bellatrix, the feel of the knife… She had remembered the feeling of being dragged down the lane and through the corridors. Knowing Voldemort had been using this place as his base. Knowing she was likely being dragged to her torture and death. Bellatrix making that fear a reality… But even the gothic stone walls and black wall sconces seemed transformed, softened by a graceful touch of colorful pastoral tapestries and paintings, extra lanterns hanging and tall candelabras standing in corners. Fresh flowers in tall vases graced every corner of the entryway, and though many doors were tightly closed, still others were open. Stone floors were warmed with tasteful rugs, wooden doors and floorboards in smaller rooms and antechambers polished to a gleam. 

Hermione and her friends followed the line of people they’d arrived with. Instead of being led up the stairs towards… that room… they were ushered to the left, down the opposite hallway on the first floor and then halted as a slow moving group of people at the large open double doors leading to a brightly lit room. As people proceeded through the doorway through an archway of white carnations and small blue flowers, Hermione realized what was going on. It was a ballroom and there was a receiving line. As a couple shifted to the side, her gaze caught sight of Lucius and she gasped and turned her head subtly, ducking out of sight.

Harry and Ginny noticed her reaction and turned towards her curiously. “Hermione?” Ginny asked, leaning around Harry to see her. 

“Yes!” Hermione said a bit too forcefully and cheerfully. “Fine! I just… I’m surprised, it looks so different and… pretty.”

Harry let out a low whistle. “Yeah, and I thought Ginny went overboard when she rented an entire celebration hall for James’ birthday.”

Ginny raised her chin. “Mothers are allowed to, it's our prerogative.”

“I’m just saying,” Harry threw his hands up, “A one year old doesn't need a three tier birthday cake…”

Hermione listened to them bickering playfully, but inside her nerves were firing on overtime. She had known Lucius would likely be here… or perhaps a part of her had assumed his estrangement from his son would also reach this. Still, Astoria seemed to be nothing if not a peacemaker, she would have naturally reached out to him for something that seemed to be so important to her. So why was her stomach twisting in absolute knots? Her heart pounded faster and harder the closer to the door they got but as the last few groups in front of them began to make their way through, she gathered her courage and raised her eyes. 

Lucius and Narcissa were standing together, Draco and Astoria beside them, Astoria beaming over a white bassinet as one of the guests bent over smiling and waving. On the other side of Astoria stood a heavy set man and a prim older woman that Hermione assumed were her own parents, elegantly dressed in dress robes and a pale blue gown and white gloves. Narcissa had something on her face that resembled a smile, greeting guests as they filed past. Far from typical of her usual attire, she was stunning in a flatteringly tight fitting burgundy red dress, her hair piled top her head in a graceful up-sweep, a ruby jeweled comb nestled in the blonde locks. Her black gloved hand rested on Lucius’ arm in a subtle possessiveness that drove a white hot jolt of unpleasantness through Hermione’s belly. 

But she spared only moments for the witch and other hosts before her attention was captured entirely by the older wizard beside her and her lungs caught painfully. Lucius was breathtaking in his elegant simplicity. His pale hair tied back, tailored, fitted dress robes, crisp white shirt and cravat and black waistcoat did nothing to obscure his form. Her heart practically leapt at the sight of him. Surprise, she was sure. Only surprise...

What is wrong with you? She scolded herself. Get a grip! 

But her brow furrowed, something was off. His back ramrod straight, shoulders tense, his hands tightly behind his back when he wasn't greeting a guest. He appeared cordial and polite, but no smile graced his lips, and his eyes were blank and expressionless. He looked impervious. So much like the arrogant, haughty aristocrat of before, jaw squared, face unreadable. This was the Lucius Malfoy she remembered from bygone years. Tall, imposing, nearly regal in crisp, black robes and a nearly unassailable shield. But there was an undercurrent she noticed now, in the set of his shoulders, the steel in his spine, an anxiousness. Whether it was the crowd, his ex wife, his son or all of the above, it was a stark reminder that the man she had slowly begun to know was not his default setting. This was. 

There was just one couple in front of them now and Hermione’s lips parted in a silent gasp, thinking herself every bit the stupid fool. This was the first time she’d seen him since his illness. The first time she would speak with him save the brief letters after the disastrous Prophet article. What would she do? What would she even say?! She let go of Harry’s arms and her cheeks flamed as she realized her palms were sweaty, her nerves a wreck and she felt dizzy as she realized she had forgotten to breathe. What the hell was wrong with her?!

Harry looked at her curiously as she released him and took a step back. “You go ahead.”

His brow quirked questioningly but he did so, escorting Ginny ahead. Her ears were ringing and she heard nothing of the exchange between them but their polite greeting with Lucius and Narcissa was short. Much, much too short and Hermione found herself standing in front of the Malfoy patriarch, struggling to keep her breath slow and even, as his head was bent briefly to hear what an attendant in a black serving uniform and white gloves behind him had said.

“Mr. Malfoy.” Hermione greeted as he straightened and turned towards her, dropping a small, and what she desperately hoped was an appropriate, curtsy. 

Lucius looked up, evidently startled. His features arrested violently, eyes widened in shock, lips parting slightly in an endearingly exposed and obvious surprise. Clearly he didn’t know she was on the guest list. 

“Hermione?!” he said,

Hermione smiled gently, pleased to see him jolted out of his previous harsh stance. Everyone around them was engrossed in their own conversations and didn’t notice his uncharacteristic response but out of the corner of her eye she noticed Narcissa taking a marked interest and the older witch cleared her throat quietly.

A shutter seemed to come down and Lucius snapped out of it, collecting himself and inclining his head politely. But his face had softened, his eyes bright with a smile that only just barely touched his lips and Hermione smiled warmly in turn. “Ms. Granger. Welcome. I am... very pleased to see you here.”

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.” she replied,

She longed to speak to him, but there was no time or privacy for it in a receiving line. He seemed as if on the verge of saying something but his jaw ticked as he evidently thought better of it and simply took her hand, just as he had with the rest of the guests. 

But then he brought her hand to his lips, bending forward slightly, a faint wisp of an earthy, tantalizing cologne reaching her nose. Even through the white formal gloves, she felt her skin warming and Hermione struggled to appear unaffected as he brushed a brief kiss across her knuckles. There was nothing untoward about the touch. It was chaste, casual, and gentlemanly but small jolts trailed up her spine from his fingertips all the same. She nodded and turned towards Narcissa as Lucius released her hand. 

Narcissa, to Hermione’s mild surprise, raised an eyebrow, looking down her nose at Hermione in a strange sort of intrigued disapproval. “Ms. Granger. Welcome.” she said dryly. “I see you are not escorted this evening.”

Hermione chilled instantly but she kept her smile pasted firmly on her face. It was a simple and true statement and there was nothing threatening or unfriendly in her tone but her posture and expression gave it the whiff of insult. 

“The invitation is appreciated, but Ronald had work that detained him.” Hermione offered in explanation. A small white lie couldn’t hurt. “Good evening Ms. Black.”

She realized too late as she turned away towards Draco and Astoria that she didn't actually know if Narcissa had abandoned her married name with the divorce or not, but she decided to just own it and not pause to see if her innocuous salutation had been taken as a barb and turned her attention to the host and hostess of the evening. 

Draco was polite, if a bit awkward. She wasn’t all that surprised, they were all struggling a bit in this new world post-Voldemort but they stumbled through their greetings and then it was Astoria’s turn.

“Hermione!” the beautiful witch beamed. Her hair was pulled up in a smooth french bun, secured with emerald hair pins that marched her flaring, floor length, green gown that flattered her small, tall frame. “Oh I’m so happy you came!”

The slightly younger woman pulled Hermione into a sudden and tight hug, and Hermione stumbled in surprise. 

“Um, I’m happy to be here.” Hermione laughed nervously and smiled as Astoria released her, clasping her hand earnestly. “Thank you so much for the invitation.” Hermione reached into her transfigured clutch and pulled out the small silver wrapped package. “This is for Scorpius.”

Astoria looked surprised. “Oh thank you, how thoughtful! I told Ginerva we have plenty of seating and please remind her she doesn't have to get up for a thing, the servers will attend her completely.”

Hermione smiled warmly at the cheerful witch. “Thank you, that's very kind.”

“Darling.” Draco said in a tone of warmth and warning that left Hermione speechless and gobsmacked as Astoria seemed about to launch into another topic.

Astoria clamped her mouth shut and giggled. “Draco has to remind me to let people move on. It's my fault this is taking so long, I want to talk to just absolutely everyone.” she confessed, eyes bright. “Enjoy the evening and hopefully I’ll catch up with you later!”

Hermione bid her goodbye and moved on, giving her head a small, bewildered shake. She greeted Astoria’s parents, the couple polite, but severe and more than a little intimidating if she were honest and when she finally left the receiving line, emerging into the rest of the ballroom to join Harry and Ginny she let out a deep breath of relief. But as Hermione got a proper look at their surroundings she barely stifled a gasp. 

“It's gorgeous, isn’t Hermione?” Ginny asked in a tone of astonishment. 

The ballroom was spacious and accommodating. Anti-thematic to the rest of the manor, the large room was decorated in brilliant wood finish, pale creams and golds, a polished oak floor and a large glistening chandelier hung from the high vaulted ceiling, casting no shortage of illumination over the mingling crowd. Large clusters of flowers adorned each of the pillars around the outside of the dance floor, chairs and seating arranged to the sides, ethereal drapes of white and pale blue chiffon strung between the blooms. A long buffet of horderves, cocktails, and desserts stood against one of the walls, and the far wall boasted high glass windows and an open set of french doors leading to a garden space beyond. Around the outside of the ballroom was an elevated area, a set of stairs on one corner leading up to what looked like gaming tables.

“Yeah, yeah gorgeous,” Harry said hurriedly, “Don’t you want to sit now?”

Ginny waved him off as he tried to direct her towards some of the seating. “No, no, I want to mingle! We were just sitting in the car, I’ll sit down in a bit.”

They moved through the growing crowd off to the side where they saw a few faces they recognized from the ministry and Hogwarts as well. Hermione was pleased to see a few friendly faces in a sea of mostly strangers. Even Parvati Patil passed by as they moved to speak with Ron’s brother Percy and his wife Penelope, the ebony haired witch looking stunning in a turquoise and silver lehenga. 

She paused on the arm of a young sandy haired man Hemrione didn’t recognize as she caught sight of them and waved pleasantly. “Ginny, Harry, Hermione! Good to see you!”  
“You too!” Harry greeted her, “No Padma tonight?”

Yes, that was strange, Hermione reflected. Even in adulthood the young women were rarely without the other if it could be helped and still attended many functions together, their dates usually an afterthought. 

“No and it was the strangest thing,” Parvati acknowledged, brushing a strand of her long hair from her face. “She actually cancelled on me last minute! But I had the dress and the date, so I get all the men to myself.” she beamed at her escort who reddened and smirked. “Dean didn’t want to go anyway so it didn’t really matter I guess.”

Parvati bid them goodbye and she and her date continued towards the cocktails, and Hermione’s attention was briefly diverted to the far corner as a small orchestra were preparing their instruments. She was more than happy to chat and mingle with the people they knew, happier still to accept a champagne flute from a passing server. But her mood dampened as she, Harry and Ginny made their way to the side for Ginny to find a comfortable place to sit, and an older trio of elderly witches stood abruptly and snapped their fans, casting a withering glance at Hermione before crossing the room to sit elsewhere. 

“What the bloody hell was that about?” Harry asked obtusely. 

“I… I don’t know.” Hermione lied, for she very much feared she did. “Lets just sit.”

“I don’t blame them, it's indecent!”

Hermione froze at the whispered hiss of a comment from another set of chairs. She didn’t know if it was meant to be a private comment or a faux whisper intended to carry and sting, but nevertheless she heard it clearly and Harry and Ginny both looked up in surprise at the middle aged witch speaking to an older couple, casting sidelong glances at Hermione.

“Well… she was obviously invited.” the man ventured quietly.

“Well it's disgraceful, she should be asked to leave.” the witch replied.

The older matronly woman agreed, far less interested in keeping her voice down. “I always knew muggleborns with their loose muggle morals would infect the wizarding world, it's horrible. Poor Arthur and Marianna. Never thought I'd sympathize with blood traitor Weasleys. What an insult.”

Ginny’s lips parted in indignation. “Are they seriously judging you for --”

Hermione laid a hand on Ginny’s arm as she made a move as if she would go and duel them all in that very moment. “Please. Don’t. At least not for my sake.”

“Blood traitors.” Harry grumbled, “I’ll show them some insult!”

“Please.'' Hermione said desperately again, “Not here, lets... Let's not ruin this. Come on,” she urged, “Ginny has been on her feet for a good hour now, lets go so she can sit.”

They both looked incensed but relented, and the three of them moved away from the offending gossips, choosing a set of chairs near the edge of the dance floor, Harry going off for drinks. Ginny was still fuming but remained silent, and Hermione was aware of more than a few whispers and disapproving glances, even after they’d settled in their seats, and the dancing had been opened long before.

How foolish she’d been to think she could come to an event like this and have peace. 

“Heroine or not. A night built on tradition, what were they thinking inviting her.” a passerby murmured to her companions as they walked by.

“Ok.” Ginny scowled, “That's it, I’m going to say something. This is ridiculous, you’d think it was the middle ages and you were straight from the brothel!”

Ginny went to get up and both Hermione and Harry stopped her.

“Don’t. Really.” Hermione said, standing up, unable to bear anymore in silence. “I uh. I think I’m going to get some fresh air. I might just go.”

Ginny frowned and Harry protested, “Hermione--”

“No, I’m fine really. Just some air.” she said forcing a smile and turned and walked around the outside of the polished dance floor, through the throng of people, and towards the open doors. Her cheeks were burning with humiliation and she felt the threat of tears stinging the back of her eyes. Was she so weak as this? Why should she care what these strangers and stuck up snobs thought? Her heart was racing, a sour taste burned on her tongue and she was filled with a desperation to escape. 

She was unaware of someone subtly pursuing her. 

Hermione had just nearly made it to the doors to the garden when suddenly she felt a gentle hand close around her upper arm. In one fluid motion, the man turned her away from the door, tucked her hand on his arm and fell into step beside her as if they’d been going this way the entire time. 

“Ms. Granger. May we speak before you run?”

She would recognize that voice anywhere and when she looked up, her eyes confirmed Lucius’ presence. She was taken aback by his sudden appearance at her side, and stammered her response.

“I… I wasn’t... yes.” she was about to say she wasn't running but… she was.

He nodded his thanks to her, and dropped his voice as they walked slowly around the edge of the dance floor. She noticed a few smug looks from older matrons turn a bit sour, as if they expected him to escort her out but then did not.

“Forgive me.” he said, sincerity softening his tone, and Hermione thought the apology strange. “I didn’t know you would be here. If I did I could have warned you. Astoria can be a bit… optimistic. Our society is one steeped in tradition in many ways and I'm afraid you break the mold on multiple counts.”

So he had noticed at least some of what had transpired and her cheeks burned fresh. For some reason that only added to her feeling of humiliation. But she swallowed down her wounded pride, instead reflecting on his stated concern for her, and she noticed a softness to his eyes underscoring his anxiety on her behalf. 

“And an unwed mother living in sin with her baby daddy doesn’t fit with it.” she suggested.

Lucius smirked sympathetically. “Something like that.”

Tears she still didn't quite understand stung more persistently at her eyes and she turned her head to avoid his observation. “I am sorry if I caused you any embarrassment, I didn’t think...”

“What?” Lucius asked, brow furrowed quizzically. “No. Fuck them and their suppositions.”

Hermione looked up in startled surprise at the word choice of the aristocratic wizard. “Mr. Malfoy!”

Lucius chuckled darkly. “Oh, come my dear. The first thing you must understand about aristocratic pureblood society is most of us can't stand each other on a good day. With very few exceptions.”

Hermione paused in their casual saunter, turning towards him and smiled, gesturing around them at the assembly. “Then what’s the point of this?!” she laughed. 

“Staking territory.” he replied simply, “A tradition that stretches back to when bloodlines were at their height of importance. A setting to publicly claim and accept a child into the family line and leave no question to paternity and inheritance, announce negotiations for marriage contracts to be opened.”

She smiled. “Is this a battlefield or a ballroom?”

“Both.” he answered, looking about the room. “One is always at war, always drawing battle lines. Its only a question as to what degree. But its more civilized dressed up as a party.”

His eyes sparkled in amusement and she spared the room a glance, deliberately avoiding the gazes of the few people still staring in open horror or stunned acceptance. “Well, it's a beautiful arrangement.”

“Yes.” he said a bit distractedly, glancing around studying this or that as if he hadn’t paid much attention before. “This meant a great deal to Astoria, and Draco was pleased to give her a significant amount of leeway and an unlimited budget.”

Hermione laughed with him. “Well, as my friend pointed out this evening, it’s mothers’ prerogative to go a bit mad for our children.”

He smiled back at her, an easy, genuine smile that she had so quickly come to covet. “Yes I suppose it is.”

Hermione took a quiet breath, trying to still her racing heart but then over Lucius’ shoulder she caught sight of the same older woman gesturing at her with her closed fan as she spoke aggressively with Narcissa on the other side of the room before storming out.

Lucius caught her brief gaze before Hermione looked away quickly, and then spared the larger assemblage a brief and subtle glance before looking back at her, a gleam in his eye and an odd challenging smile curving his lips. 

“Would you care to dance?”

Hermione met his eyes in surprise, her lips parting slightly. “Dance?”

“A single dance.” he nodded once. “And if you should still wish to leave after, I won’t hinder you.”

She was uncertain at first. She couldn’t explain it, but she was already feeling like a jittery imbecile just seeing him again. But it was a ball after all. People were expected to dance. With lots of people. She didn’t like the idea of being the center of attention. Dancing with Lucius would certainly increase the risk of that… but she found that she very much liked the idea. What harm could one dance do, really?

She smiled up at him. “I think I would like that very much, Lucius.”

Lucius bowed slightly and held his hand out to her. She swallowed, feeling her cheeks flushing hot, and laid her palm against his. A fluttering, twisting erupted in her belly at the contact. Even through his glove, the heat of his touch startled her as he led her towards the floor as another set was beginning. She recognized the tune, a simple straightforward waltz. Even on her suddenly unsteady legs she could manage it. 

He faced her on the dance floor and she was acutely aware of the startled silence in their immediate vicinity, more than a few stares afforded in their direction. But she met his striking eyes and he smiled… and she was breathless. 

Lucius bowed and she curtsied and the music began, and he took her hand again, his other at her waist and she startled, trying to keep the quickly brewing storm of emotion and uncertainty from showing on her face. She turned her head ever so slightly, desperate to hide her warm reddening cheeks as he pulled her gently into easy, flowing, and elegant steps, his muscle firm under the palm that laid over his bicep. Gosh it was hot in here! Yes, that was the rational explanation for this heated frenzied ball of nerves she found herself in. 

Conversation. Conversation was what was needed. 

“It doesn’t seem I’m improving anyone’s opinion of you.” she forced a smile.

“Professional social pariah, remember?” he smirked as he turned her. His hip brushed against her backside the barest of touches as he did and she tried to ignore the tiny jolt that went through her. “But.” he continued, seemingly unaffected. “There are not as many people as you think I’m sure. At the very least not many who will have the gall to say it out loud. Try not to let it affect you. Most of those outraged over you don’t even know why they are. Only that they should be.”

That only served to frustrate her more. 

“But there is a reason?” she questioned him as he guided her around the other dancing couples. “What is it about my situation that is so abhorrent?”

Lucius shook his head dismissively. “A way of thinking of life that precedes even Hogwarts herself. One that most have forgotten or poorly understand.”

Hermione inclined her head. “Well now you have piqued my curiosity. What ancient law have I broken now, Mr. Malfoy?”

He smiled ruefully. “In bygone eras a witch, or muggle for that matter, who found herself unexpectedly with child could be in a great deal of difficulty. This was considered muggle problems, and beneath wizarding society. Among us it was expected that should such a situation arise marriage was the solution, to be immediately carried out. Any wizard who did not make and follow through on an offer of marriage was subject to the harshest of social scorn. Rules for mistresses were strict and undeviating. This was for the protection of the witch and child. But likewise…”

Hermione raised an eyebrow as Lucius hesitated as they parted briefly in a half turn before coming back together. “Yes? You can’t very well stop there.” She pressed.

“Well,” he continued, “It is a simple matter to prove paternity in magical circles. The wizard would be responsible for both the child and the witch. Housing, financial stability, protection… Whether wife or mistress. So likewise a witch who had…” he searched for a term.. “Given in to temptation.”

Hermione snorted and Lucius scowled at her with a teasing gleam in his eye but carried on.

“If she then refused the marriage offer she was equally scorned.” he finished. “To do so would in effect be saying she was willing to take their provision and protection and material goods, but that they are not good enough to take as a husband. It was the greatest insult you can deliver a man and his family, and would be viewed the same as a wizard bedding a woman and getting her with child yet refusing to marry her. That she is good enough to use as a whore and then dispose of. Each are held to their own standard.”

Well. she thought bitterly. At least it seemed slightly better than the muggle world where it seemed women were always to blame no matter what the circumstance. But it still seemed to be backward in this day and age. Especially if Lucius was correct and most didn't even know why they thought what they did. So this is what she was berated for?

“That’s just so... cold cut.” She said, slightly horrified.

“Perhaps.” he acknowledged. “But, it was the time. And like many things, ingrained into generations of understanding.”

Hermione gave a small huff as she processed that bit of depressing historical factoid. But Ron’s expression of humiliation during their argument after Dean’s birthday and her previous thoughts that she had unintentionally made him feel less than with her refusal returned, and guilt prickled at her. Ron hadn’t seemed able to articulately voice what it was that caused such visceral anger over her hesitance to marry him even after she had explained (what he thought was clearly) her reasons. But if as Lucius said it was simply ingrained, would he even know? Ron had shown he was comfortable in wizard culture, even some of the more questionable aspects, but the Weasleys were certainly not bad people. But when immersed in such attitudes from generation to generation… she had never wished to cause Ron to think she thought him unworthy. And she hadn't realized until now how deeply set it was. 

“Hermione?”

She started at Lucius’ voice. “Hm. Yes, just thinking.”

They fell into silence and she simply followed him in the paced, sweeping dance. But unfortunately silence gave her too much space to notice how his arms and touch felt and she knew that was an avenue of thought she didn’t need to traverse. Her body still tingled and warmed. Perhaps this was a deeper seated issue than she thought. She should pull away. Take a step back. She was in a relationship after all and even though nothing untoward at all was happening she was fairly certain that feeling this way wasn’t at all proper, especially when she had just been trying to think of Ron. But she didn’t want to pull away. His touch was too soothing, the gentle brush of his body against hers as he turned her was too pleasant. She hadn’t danced like this in quite some time and even with the distressing topic of conversation, Lucius’ company was easy and without pretense, and she felt lighter, happier and unburdened where just moments before she was ready to dart from the ballroom in humiliated tears…

He seemed content to simply hold her and guide her through the pleasant dance, but Hermione searched for something to say. 

“I’m surprised, but pleased, to see you here.” she settled on, hoping her voice didn’t sound too forced. “You know, with Draco.”

Lucius’ eyes darkened as he stared off into the crowd and she regretted her choice of topic. But he nodded slowly anyway. “It was important to Astoria to do things properly, and Draco relented. The living patriarchs must be involved in the ceremony.”

“And…” she hesitated. “Its going well.”

He tilted his head with a grimace. “We are… enduring. My son has made it clear he is uninterested in any attempted reconciliation from me. So I give him the distance he asks for.”

“I’m sorry.” she said quietly. “That must be painful.”

“His mother is kind enough to keep me informed of things a father needs to know. I am grateful for that much.”

He forced a smile, his jaw tight, and Hermione found her hand tightening on his shoulder. Draco’s mother. Narcissa, Lucius’ former wife. He wanted to ask him about that. But two painful subjects in a row hardly seemed fair.

“You lied to me by the way.” she said instead, her tone teasing as he spun her slowly out in a graceful box step and pulled her back into his firm embrace.

His brow furrowed, the darkness fleeing. “I did?”

“Astoria let the truth of your condition before slip.” she told him, an eyebrow raised in challenge. “I know it was more complicated than a simple infection.”

“Ah.” he drawled. “I have been found out.” he paused with a slight huff and then continued. “I didn't want you to feel guilty.” he confessed. “And… it is a futile topic in any case as I will likely never know who made the attempt.”

That surprised Hermione. “So, you have no interest at all in knowing who wanted to kill you?”

He laughed ruefully. “It is an endless list at this point my dear. I would not say no interest, only that I recognize it as pointless. I have enemies on both sides who would love to see me dead. Even a few disgruntled business attachments I can see taking the measure.”

That thought saddened her and stirred up a significant feeling of worry but she was shaken from the train of thought when he moved them around another couple who made a misstep. She should have known he would be an expert dancer and in these matters she didn't mind following the lead of another. He danced as he did everything, measured and graceful and she could relax in his confidence. 

She stifled a gasp as a jolt went through her as her breast brushed his shoulder when he turned her, interrupting her thoughts. 

A physical reaction. That was all. Just a mechanical, biological response.

His hand moved slightly against the small of her back, and warmth flooded her belly as she faced him again. The nature of the dance did not encourage them to be pressed against one another in any improper way. There was a practical breadth of distance between them but somehow she could feel the heat of his body even so. 

Oh dear.

She was afraid to meet his eyes, lest he see the sudden turn of her focus written all over her face. And how could she explain or justify to him, what she could not identify or explain herself? But she couldn’t spend the whole dance staring at the floor. 

So with a deep breath she looked up, deciding to make a study of him. The evening had begun a bit difficult, but had drifted into this refreshing and pleasing contentment. She was no longer surprised at his demeanor towards her, and that in itself should be a surprise. That she was so comforted and at ease with him, that she could so easily rest in this unhurried pace with him. 

It was as if a switch had been flipped from not just two hours ago when they’d arrived. He was at ease with her as well as she was with him. Smiling and open and relaxed. Her thoughts must have shown in her expression for he suddenly asked her, “What is it?” he raised an eyebrow, “You are looking at me very strangely.”

Blushing having been caught staring, she forced a smile. “Reflecting I suppose. I… I have been enjoying getting to know you. You have turned out to be so different from the Lucius Malfoy I expected.”

If she didn’t know better, she’d say his once sure and unbroken steps faltered just slightly as his face registered the slightest visible surprise. But he recovered quickly as the music began to slow and he stopped their steps as well, his hand tightening slightly on her back. “This is... the Lucius Malfoy that trusts you.” he said hesitantly.

The response had caught Hermione off guard and she stopped moving as he did, well aware she was staring at him, her lips parted slightly, but she was helpless to stop. But he stared too, perhaps realizing what he’d said, wondering if he’d said too much, let too much slip, let too much of himself be visible. So she smiled. 

The moment was broken when the music stopped altogether and the other couples and assemblage applauded politely for the end of the set and the orchestra and startled from their oddly charged sort of stand off they broke eye contact and joined in the applause. Clearing his throat, Lucius inclined slightly in a bow and offered his arm which she accepted and he moved her off in the direction of the audience.

They walked slowly together as the dance floor cleared and the orchestra began preparing for the next set. And as Hermione was guided through the milling throng she noticed the scornful looks from before were absent, and even the more openly hostile guests now darted their gaze from her, looking humiliated, cowed and uncomfortable. As if chastised. Hermione paused in her step, staring at Lucius who also paused and turned towards her, eyebrow raised. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Did you wish to return to your friends, I--”

“No, no I do, it's not that I just…” she shook her head slowly, looking subconsciously to where her hand rested so easily against his arm and she realized what he’d done. He spoke of battle lines, and claimed territory. With a dance, he had drawn a battle line around HER. 

With his brief escort he had subtly but effectively declared to the room her presence was welcomed and her suitability not to be questioned. With one wordless gesture he'd told them she belonged here.

The more outspoken corners of her mind rebelled against the idea that she needed to be granted respectability, but the more temperate corners smoothed by age and experience showed her instead the true intention of a very traditionally minded man who had bucked expectation...

A softness tugged at her heartstrings. “It seems you’ve rescued me once again.”

He considered her for a long moment before a smirk tugged at his lips and he covered her hand with his as they resumed their unhurried walk. “No. Only reminded you of the confident, self assured young witch that sought to give me a public dressing down at the mere age of twelve.”

Her mind whirled back to Flourish and Blotts as he fixed her with an amused glance. “You remember that?” she asked in disbelief. 

He laughed darkly. “Of course I do. Now make them remember.”

She smiled and blushed. “I never thought of myself as the type who needed the reminder. I’ve always been so opinionated. Yet now a few stuffy biddies make a snide comment and somehow I'm an 11 year old girl crying in the bathroom again.”

“It has not been an easy time for you.” he acknowledged. “Add to this the… usual considerations... You can be forgiven can you not?”

Hermione smirked at that. She supposed “usual considerations” was gentleman speak for “new mother and still a postpartum hormonal mess” but, she guessed it was true to a degree. But following her train of thought she wondered at something else. 

Stopping and turning to face him she broached the question bouncing about in her head. “You’ve only just begun to restore your respectability among purebloods. And just barely at that. Aren’t you worried what people will say about you?”

“Not anymore.” he said shortly. “Especially since for all intents and purposes… I am no longer a pureblood. And they would turn on me like rabid werewolves.”

She frowned as her mind drifted back to the failed blood transfusion in the muggle hospital. “Is it really that much of a scandal?”

He breathed deeply as he escorted her onward. “I doubt anyone could fathom such an idea, but were it known and my father alive… I’d have been cast into the street with barely the clothes on my back and blasted off the family tree. A mere few hundred years ago… disposed of completely to spare my family the shame.”

That was probably the saddest bit of pureblood tradition she’d ever heard. “But you’d have died if they didn’t try something.”

“My death would have been preferable to the stain it would have been seen as.” he answered hollowly.

No. That was the saddest bit she’d ever heard.

Before she could really think about it or comment further, she looked up and realized they were only a few paces from Harry and Ginny. Harry was distracted talking to a gentleman from the Auror office, but Ginny noticed her approach and her lips parted in surprise before she elbowed Harry in the ribs. Harry winced but then saw her with Lucius and looked startled. 

“Will I be bidding you goodnight then?” he asked, turning to her once more. He was perfectly polite and reserved but his eyes betrayed him briefly and he looked almost… hopeful.

Hermione smiled. “I think I’ll be staying a bit longer, Mr. Malfoy.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth in return. “Lucius.” he corrected.

She nodded once. “I think I’ll be staying a bit longer… Lucius.”

He nodded once, and taking her hand he walked with her the rest of the way, only releasing her when she was with her friends. “Thank you for your company. Enjoy your evening. Mr. and Mrs. Potter.” he acknowledged by way of salutation and then with a final bow to Hermione turned and vanished into the crowd of guests.

Hermione’s cheeks felt hot as she smiled, and plucked a champagne flute from a passing server’s tray. Harry and Ginny were staring at her, obviously perplexed but she didn’t care. She felt light, giddy and refreshed. Lucius was right. What was she doing, hanging her head as if she had anything to be ashamed of? If judgmental strangers had a problem with her, well it was their time to waste. Not hers.

“What the bloody hell?” Harry said quietly. “What just happened?”

“What are you doing, Hermione?” Ginny asked, a tone of confusion creasing her brow. 

Hermione raised her champagne glass in a toast. “I’m going to enjoy my evening.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucius did his best to move through the crowd quickly but causally enough to avoid drawing attention to the fact. He forced himself to return a smile that Astoria cast at him, very much in her element as a gracious, elegant host and was enjoying a conversation with several guests. He moved purposefully past with a polite nod, not allowing himself to be dragged into an exchange without appearing he was deliberately being dismissive. Appearances, appearances.

When he finally reached the quieter and more sparsely populated grand hall, he paused, taking a shuddering breath and struggling to steel himself. Not good enough, he needed more than a few moments. 

He had an idea of where to go and started off in that direction. He had only just made it to the darker corridor that led to the family wing when a voice, that had once brought him joy, stopped him, and he closed his eyes expecting nothing but grief.

“Hermione Granger, Lucius?”

The older wizard turned and pinned the woman who was walking up behind him with as close to a placid look as he was capable of at the moment. Her heels, though concealed by the full red gown, echoed ominously as she closed the distance.

“Really?”

Lucius’ jaw tightened in irritation but he held his tongue, biting back most of what he wished to say. 

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Narcissa.” he replied blandly. “Are you truly incensed over a dance and pleasant conversation?”

“Please.” she scoffed, coming to a standstill a pace away from him. “I saw how you reacted when she walked in, saw the way you looked at her.”

“There is nothing between Hermione and I.” Lucius insisted.

Narcissa raised a thin eyebrow in challenge. “Oh, very amusing. I read that garbage article the same as the rest of the world. And now here you are all but confirming a relationship.” a sneer curled her lip. “They won’t think any better of you. Instead of manipulating her... they’ll just think you’re bedding her.”

She spat the word and Lucius found himself quickly losing patience. “I don’t care what they think. Or you for that matter, not any longer. Her-- Ms. Granger and I share an understanding, that is all. And it is none of your concern.”

Lucius went to turn away but Narcissa grasped his shoulder and pushed him back towards the wall. She was a formidable woman, though she lacked physical strength but Lucius confessed himself taken by surprise at her sudden display of fury. One hand against his chest, she grasped the front of his trousers with the other and he grunted in pain as she gripped his aching and hardened shaft to accentuate her point...

“Just as I thought.” Narcissa said in a quiet hiss. “All of this for a mudbl-”

Lucius raised his hand with a sharp jerk in impatient warning. “Do not.”

His former wife froze in surprise, her lips parted slightly before she recovered and marshaled her face into an expression of triumphant vindication. 

“So.” she said bitterly, eyes flashing in knowing anger as she gripped him tighter, the evidence of his reaction to Hermione obvious against her hand. “There is something there for her after all.”

Given that it was Narcissa’s desire to leave, and that she initiated the divorce, Lucius had little patience for whatever game she was currently playing with him. He pulled her hand from him roughly and stepped back. “Jealous, Cissa?” he challenged her hollowly. 

Her face hardened. She didn’t verbally deny it and he wanted to be petty and lash out. What business did she have spewing venom for a passing conversation when this very evening she’d be returning to her villa to her new paramour? Lucius fought the urge to sigh as he bit back the angry retort, his heart pounding in frustration. When had it come to this? When had the woman he married, the woman he joined his life with, the mother of his child turned on him? When had he begun to inspire the resentment and anger he now saw in her eyes where once there was love and devotion?

“You are sealing your own punishment.” she retorted instead. “A mudblood war hero. A fallen unmarried woman who birthed a blood traitors child.”

Lucius’ ire rose in a disproportionate swell of anger but he maintained his silence and his composure.

“There is no good way for this to end Lucius.” she continued, shaking her head in a look that almost resembled empathy. “Look at you. A disgraced former death eater, barely able to show his face in society. The means and beginning of so many of her torments.” at that, Narcissa scoffed. “She will not have you.”

“Then I suppose it’s for the best that isn’t my objective.” He answered shortly.

She looked him over for one last barb perhaps. She shook her head. “You’ve all but destroyed this family. Now you would make us a laughing stock.”  
His jaw tightened and he felt an unpleasant heat rise in his spine as he leaned forward, inches from her face and she looked surprised but didn’t move. Narcissa was never one to back down, not even to him.

“You speak as though you did not come from the same world that I did.” he hissed angrily. “As though you were not making those decisions right beside me, approving every one. My choices destroyed our family... but I did not do it alone. And your abandonment of our marriage and resentment of me is nothing more than an attempt to assuage your own guilt. I am learning to face my mistakes. Perhaps you need to learn to face yours.”

She might have responded but he didn't give her a chance before turning and continuing to his destination. He didn’t care what she had to say. About him. About the past. About Ms. Granger. About anything. God’s above and Salazar help him, but he was tired. So bloody tired…

He continued on to his destination at a brisk pace and when he finally went through the door to the private bathroom, he shut the door with a decisive snap, his hand braced on the wood as he leaned forward in equal parts frustration and exhaustion. Warding the door from further unwelcome intrusions, he turned and pulled a flask from beneath his robes, taking a deep, steadying swallow of scotch. He hadn’t needed the crutch of alcohol for some time now but this night… this night that should have been purely for celebration and joy… he knew was going to be its own version of hell…

Setting the flask aside on the counter with a clink of metal, Lucius leaned forward over the sink, the white marble cool against his hands. He was sweating and struggling to catch his breath, his body still hard as granite but his chest aching with some distressing and stirring emotion he could not pin down and identify.

Damn it. Damn it all to bloody fucking hell. 

There were many things in his life he hadn’t intended to happen. And certainly not this. This mad and unexplainable pull towards Hermione Granger. Even among his own pain and distress over his son, his former wife, the frustrating stalemate he felt himself in, her own distress had screamed at him from across the crowded ballroom, drawing his gaze. He had seen what was happening at once, her eyes bright, head bowed in shame, her posture tight and coiled in a stance of desperation trying to come across as casual and unaffected… It cut him. Anger flared and he saw red… He could guess at the cause but not be sure of them until he moved through the crowd towards her and heard the suggestions and whispers. And he didn’t care. Perhaps once it might have still mattered. But no longer. Not her. Not tonight. She could have been caught in his own cloak room closet in a sex ritual to harness dark magic and sacrifice children with her paramour’s own brother and he’d have wanted to beat back anyone who dared breathe a word against her character… The strength of his reaction confused him. 

His equally strong warmth and arousal when he held her in his arms frightened him.

What was he thinking?

Turning on the cold water, Lucius splashed frigid water on his face and dried himself with a hand towel before staring at his own reflection accusingly. Narcissa was not wrong. No matter how she had softened towards him. She would never have him. Even if she were unattached what hope could a man like him have? What madness caused the notion to cross his mind after such a short acquaintance. She would think him insane. What foolish vanity was it to even entertain the thought?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the reviews, subscribers and silent readers. As well as your kind words and patience while I navigate all these icky symptoms. On the plus side, being ill gives me plenty of time to stare at the ceiling and think of fun plot points lol. ;) Also, I know a few of you are worried so let me just say, don't fret too much over the tags right now. I don't want to give too much away of the plot so I’ll just say it's not going to shake out the way you think and regardless of what characters do - or don’t - ultimately enter the scene, you will get your happy ending. Have faith lovely readers >3 Stay tuned for the Ball Pt. 2


	21. Forgiveness and Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione feels drawn to go to Lucius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! The Ball! Part 2. I was so happy to see so many people enjoyed the last chapter. I hope this one will also not disappoint. I think you will be pleased ;) I built my own wizarding world ceremony, borrowing from various sources… As always thank you for your patience, I did not expect to get this sick but I will keep plugging away. Hopefully the lengthy-ish chapter with lots of Lumione heart to hearts makes up for it

_"People run  
Sun to sun  
Caught in their lives ever flowing  
Once begun  
Life goes till it's gone  
We have to go where it's going."_   
**"Then You Look At Me", Celine Dion**

**15 July 2000, later that same evening**

Hermione found herself remaining true to her intentions and continued to have an enjoyable evening. The whispers and stares and hostility had faded into embarrassed darting side glances, and beyond that, Hermione didn’t care to take note. She didn’t see Lucius again save for brief chance glances as he went about his hosting duties. 

The drinks were refreshing, the hors d'oeuvres fabulous, and though she had been correct in assuming there were not a great many people she knew or recognized except in passing acquaintance and old families she recognized as those of less familiar schoolmates, she found more than enough familiar faces to converse and dance with. She even happened to meet several people from the ministry. She had never been an expert at social graces, especially when it came to pureblood etiquette so she could use all the opportunities to foster connections that she could get.

Astoria had truly outdone herself with the evening. 

Laughing and breathless, Hermione had even enjoyed a fast paced dance with Harry. Catching her breath, cheeks red from the burst of activity, Hermione walked eagerly back to Ginny and sat beside her in the empty chair.

“Harry’s gone to get some punch.” Hermione explained as Harry vanished across the room.

“Good.” Ginny said gravely. “It gives us time to talk.”

Hermione looked at her curiously, hands folded in her lap, “About what?” Though she thought she knew...

“What are you doing, Hermione?” Ginny asked her gesturing off to the staircase.

Hermione turned her head and saw Lucius standing there, engaged in conversation with Astoria’s father and a man in black, flowing priest's robes embroidered with pagan symbols and runes. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Hermione said untruthfully.

“So we’re NOT going to talk about Mr. Malfoy?”

“What’s there to talk about, Ginny?” Hermione sighed.

“I understand gratitude ok?” Ginny said pointedly. “I can’t imagine going through what you did, and it must stir up all kinds of confusing complicated things between you and Malfoy.” Ginny leaned forward and took Hermione’s hand, her eyes soft and earnest. “And I really meant what I said before. I don't care WHO got you both back to us safe but... Hermione there’s a difference in being grateful and… and…” she gestured emptily to the dance floor lost for the word she wanted.

“What, civility?” Hermione asked, an unexplainable touch of defensiveness bubbling in her breast. “So we’re friendly. After all that mess we endured, I think it’s somewhat inevitable, don’t you?”

Ginny raised an eyebrow but instead of condemnation it looked like sympathy, as if she were talking to someone who was out of her mind. “That didn’t look like friendliness or civility with an acquaintance, Hermione. That looked like a woman enjoying a very pleasant dance with a highly available man... Aren't you with my brother?”

“What?” Hermione scoffed. “Of course I am. I just…” Hermione laid her hand on her forehead briefly and took a breath. “Look, I was being stupid. And I let all the comments and drama get to me, and he was trying to help. We had a nice conversation and he made me feel better, and refocused, that’s all.”

“Alright.” Ginny raised her hands. “Alright I don’t get it, but it’s not me that has to cope with it all, so I wouldn’t get it, I guess. But… just want to be sure you’re ok and thinking straight.”

Hermione closed her eyes. “I am… but Ginny…” she sighed and looked at her friend levelly. “Well you didn't see him or… or talk with him like I have and… it's not like I've forgotten the past entirely, and I know there is a history. Regardless of what he might have intended or not intended…” Her heart ached at the thought. “You still got hurt.”

But Ginny looked back evenly. “I’m not projecting.” she answered firmly. “That’s not what this is.”

“I know.” she answered quickly. “I know you’re not, I just… I understand that its different for you, just because I can let certain things go, I haven’t forgotten--”

“Hermione, stop.” Ginny said, shaking her head. “Look I… I don’t really know how I feel about this odd friendship that’s been stirred up between you and… and him. I just want to be sure you aren't setting yourself up to be hurt.”

Hermione sighed. “You don’t believe all the nonsense the prophet posted do you?”

Ginny scoffed. “Of course not I just…” she hesitated. “He is who he is.”

Hermione mulled that over as silence fell, nothing left to say on the matter. Had she moved too quickly? Forgiven too easily? Ignored too much? She didn’t know if she could go back even if she had. And what would the point be? To wave off the ground they’d made, the strange connection they had formed and go back to hating for the sake of it? No that wasn’t what Ginny was suggesting of course, she was only urging caution. But what were the answers to her questions in any case? Did it matter?

Hermione wrung her hands together subtly in the fabric of her gown, forcing a casual smile as Harry returned, glasses of punch and a plate of fruits and cheeses floating and bobbing behind him. She sipped the sparkling berry flavored refreshment still deep in thought. Despite her rational nature, logic had a tendency to fly out the window when she was passionate about something and idealism took over. Was she doing that now?

Rationally, there was a choice to be made. The past was what it was and the present was what it was as well, and she could accept it and move forward… or she couldn’t.   
Hermione blinked in a measure of confusion when suddenly everyone around her began applauding. She set her now empty punch glass aside. She stood and looked curiously at the staircase at the far end of the room. It appeared Draco and Astoria had just been speaking, how much time had passed while she was stewing in her thoughts? The Priest-like wizard, in his flowing array of robes, was saying something that implied Draco had just given Scorpius his name officially, before the magical community. He rattled on about this long standing tradition, and that obligation… Scorpius had been brought down and was snuggled peacefully in his mother’s arms who stood further down the staircase beside Draco. Behind the priest at the landing on the stairs he stood, was a small elegantly draped table with a few candles and earthenware bowls with the four elements and a smoking silver incense bowl.

“Now that the beaming parents have made their offerings to the gods and oaths of dedication to young Scorpius,” the smiling priest continued. “We will ask the patriarchs of each noble family to call forth the blessings of the ancestors for the new family --”

Hermione’s attention was immediately drawn to the two men who were standing in the crowd with everyone else. Lucius and Mr. Greengrass moved to ascend the stairs, and Hermione frowned. Did anyone else notice the hesitation in Lucius’ step?

Her train of thought was broken when Ginny leaned in closer to her to speak quietly. “The families choose how elaborate the actual celebration is of course, but the basic template for these are the same. There’s the ritual dedication for the family, the celebration, and the public declaration. After the parents make their oaths and claim the child, the patriarch’s acknowledge the family lines and give a toast for blessing…”

Hermione nodded distractedly as Ginny leaned into Harry and she turned back to the front of the ballroom as Lucius began speaking. 

“One of the many joys and obligations of magical lineage is seeing that joy and obligation passed through the generations.” he began, somewhat gravely and Hermione’s brow furrowed.

“We ask the divine powers to give guidance to those who will direct his steps, and raise him in the knowledge of the old ways…” 

Hermione assumed this was a ritualized portion of the presentation as the words, though sincere, sounded particular and scripted, flowing into a predetermined point. But her usual quest for knowledge that was almost always running in the background of her mind had stuttered to a halt the moment Lucius had taken his place beside Mr. Greengrass and began speaking…

There were very few people moving, everyone focused on the traditional toast, ready with their glasses, so Hermione moved through the crowd as subtly and casually as she could, stopping at the edge of the crowd mere yards from the staircase. 

“To be a parent… is to love and nurture.” Lucius said, raising his champagne glass. “To lead and train a child, and guide him along the right path. To both teach... and to learn… It is…” 

Lucius stopped suddenly and Hermione took an impulsive half step forward before stopping herself.

“It is to smile at their triumphs and weep at their pains. To walk beside them, until they must walk alone. It is our greatest gift and our greatest responsibility.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably though she didn’t immediately understand why. Astoria was all aglow with sparkling smiles but Draco looked down blankly at the floor. He refused to meet his wife or father’s eyes. ‘Who’s idea was this anyway?’ She thought angrily, her gaze once more drawn to Lucius. Couldn't anyone else in this room see the pain in his face?! Wasn’t there a friend or ally in the world who gave a damn? 

But glancing around her, she realized… no. They couldn't see. Couldn't see the shadow behind his eyes or the white knuckled grip on the glass in his hand. They couldn’t see the chaos storming beneath the ice of his composure and dutiful recitation of blessing for his son and grandson… They couldn’t see…

But she could.

It wasn’t the first mad thought or impulse she’d had regarding this man but she longed in that moment to rush to him. To take his hand. Stand beside him as he had stood beside her. It was a near compulsion and she gripped the chair tightly to keep herself rooted to the spot. Such a thing could never be permissible. Coming to her proverbial rescue with a socially acceptable and setting appropriate dance was one thing. Going to him now, in front of a good portion of affluent pureblood society would only draw attention to his current distress.

No one was aware, and as Lucius finished his part of the toast, and Astoria’s father took over, Hermione saw the Malfoy patriarch take a subtle barely noticeable breath of pained resignation. And her heart ached. How she longed to soothe the pain she saw in his stance...

“Thank you Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Greengrass.” said the priest as the joint toast was concluded. “Now please may we join together and welcome to our magical community, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.” Astoria walked forward with her son, smiling as she handed him to the older wizard. “May the gods bless and keep you.” he said, dropping a blessing oil from a vial onto his forehead and tracing a symbol she couldn’t see. 

Hermione started and looked around in surprise as most of the assemblage raised their glasses repeating, “May you have good fortune and good health!”

There was applause and chatter but Hermione felt a hand on her elbow and turned.

“Hey are you alright?” Harry asked, “You wandered off all the sudden.”

“Oh yes!” Hermione fibbed with a smile, “I… I just have never seen a traditional naming ceremony before. I was curious.”

Harry shook his head and laughed. “Of course you were. Alright, well listen, apparently there’s some constellation viewing in a bit. Ginny wants to take a look and then we’re going to head off.”

“Oh ok.” Hermione nodded. “It’s been a long night, I’m sure. I’ll find my way back.”

Harry looked dubious. “Are you sure?”

She waved him off. “Yes, don’t worry about me. I think I’m going to stay a while. There’s someone here I'd like to see before I go.”

“Alright. Well, if you're sure you’ll be ok.”

“I will but… Hary before you go…” she hesitated, thinking back to her dance with Lucius. “You said there were other incidents of botched care and potions tampering.”

“Yeah…” Harry asked, a bit suspiciously. 

“Is there a list of offenders? It wasn’t publicized.”

“There was... “ he acknowledged. “They didn't think it was a good idea to publish names of the guilty parties…”

Hermione bit her lip. “Can you get it for me?”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “The names? But… why would you want---”

She took his hand, unwilling to explain her reasoning. “Harry. Remember asking me to trust you to trust me?”

Her friend considered her for a few long moments and then nodded slowly. “Yeah. yeah, alright. I’ll get it for you.”

Relief went through her and she smiled. “Thanks.”

Harry bid her goodnight with no further interrogation and Hermione wandered through the crowd slowly, which was thinning as more people already moved outside. She waited by a pillar, her eyes scanning the assembled quests. A few remained, enjoying the music, a few stragglers at the buffet, but in the growing emptiness, Hermione didn’t see the one person she was looking for…

She couldn’t say for certain what precisely it was that was driving her to seek him out. Despite their friendliness, it might not even be welcome. But she still sought him, but gave up on finding him here. Lucius Malfoy was a hard man to miss and there was no trace. Perhaps he had gone out into the dark. 

Hermione stepped out the large glass doors of the ballroom onto the stone terrace. People had begun moving off into the well kept grass and arrays of fountains, flower beds and topiaries in couples and groups around various styles and sizes of telescopes. Though dark, devoid of lanterns or fires, the better to see the stars and the constellation, a charming display of moon-flowers creeping and cascading around the steps gave a gentle, fragrant glow. 

Hermione easily saw the shock of pale blonde hair where Draco and Astoria stood with her parents and a young woman who may have been Astoria’s sister… but not the wizard she sought… With an oddly disappointed feeling she sighed and turned towards a further corner of the lawn and a lonely unoccupied telescope she realized she’d have little hope of locating him. Perhaps she should leave well enough alone. 

But just as the wizard serving as a master of ceremony began instructing the uncertain on where to look to find the Scorpius constellation and other celestial bodies of note, and Hermione’s hand brushed the cool brass of the telescope, a brief flare of a small orange light of a lit cigarette in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned back towards the manor, looking up sharply to the nearest spire. There, barely visible in the intimidating shadow of the spire, the pale figure of a man, standing at the banister briefly before turning and leaving her field of sight.

That was him, she knew it. 

Hermione’s heart began fluttering and skipping. She was not one to pay much attention to silly notions of fate, perhaps it was all the talk of constellations and power in names and tradition was getting in her head… But regardless of the reason beneath it, the same force that pulled her to seek him out in the first place, pulled her to see it through…  
Abandoning her place, Hermione turned back to the manor. Walking purposefully through the nearly empty ballroom, the receiving hall and into the entry, she realized too late she had no idea where she was going or how to access the spires to the roof in the maze of the estate. Minutes went by as she wandered aimlessly, trying doorknobs hesitantly, afraid to trigger some strange ancient curse she huffed in frustration. “I have no idea where I’m going.” 

As if her voiced lament had summoned him, a soft pop startled her and hand on the french door in front of her she gasped and whipped around, relieved to see Dilby the elf in a nicely pressed green pillowcase. 

“Oh! Dilby!” she breathed, hand at her throat. “It’s you. I’m surprised to see you!”

The elf considered her silently. “Much to do, many wizards and witches and elves needed for the work. Miss should not be wandering. Danger for strangers.” the elf held out a leathery hand. “Come, Dilby will take Miss back to the party…”

“Oh.” she replied. “Thank you. But actually I…” Hermione suddenly felt a bit foolish but pressed on in any case. “I believe your master is on the roof…” she confessed. “I got lost trying to find my way.... there.”

She had nearly said “to him” before correcting herself. It felt too familiar, too intimate, and she wasn’t ready to analyze the swell of emotion that had bubbled up with the words perched on the tip of her tongue.

Dilby looked at her rather suspiciously, clearly wondering why she was pursuing his master but ultimately it appeared he decided she was worthy of at least a modicum of trust.   
“Very well, miss. This way.”

Dilby led Hermione through corridor after corridor, and round corner after carpeted corner. She drew her arms around her subconsciously as they retreated further and further away from the din of champagne glasses and talk and laughter. The halls grew colder, darker, removed from the warmth of the lighted entry and ballroom, distant from the charm of the garden. Shadows crept longer and Hermione’s heart pounded at the close, chilled feeling of glowering paintings and imposing carvings that loomed overhead on tall banisters and archways. 

Hermione’s palms turned sweaty and clammy as the specter that was Bellatrix drew closer and she took a ragged breath. She gave herself a shake and instead tried to distract herself from the gothic and gloomy change of ambiance and made deep study of the back of the kindly elf’s head. 

Too deep a study apparently for as they came to one large staircase winding upward, lighted only by the large window that stretched up to the vaulted ceiling to a balcony and set of rooms above, and another, narrow flight of stone steps inset to the wall, the elf stopped and turned. “Miss is looking at Dilby very strangely.” the elf acknowledged pointedly.

Hermione flushed in slight embarrassment. “I… I’m sorry Dilby. I just…” she sighed. Dare she be so forward? She had a bad habit of offending house elves, and other creatures with her ideas on how things should be. But Ginny’s caution disquieted her. He is who he is. Was that true? How deep had Lucius’ change of heart reached?

“You’re an intriguing creature Dilby. I knew Dobby. But… you are so loyal to your master. You seem to care for him genuinely.”

Dilby was quiet for a moment, staring suspiciously at her. “Miss asks a lot of questions.”

Hermione was afraid she had already offended the elf and stumbled out an apology. “I’m sorry. I know. Some would call me insufferable, but I… I truly mean no harm only… I’m trying to work something out. Sort through… through a lot of things I don’t understand.”

Dilby considered her several more awkward moments before nodding. “Elves cannot be speaking ill of their families, Miss. But not insulting to acknowledge master always be a hard man. But not as cruel as Miss thinks.”

“No, I… I’ve seen that.” Hermione said in a quiet rush. “Did… did Lucius -- I mean. Did your master tell you how we came to be so closely acquainted?”

The elves eyes softened, once suspicious now empathetic. “Dilby can be putting pieces together, Miss. Dilby knows Master saved Miss, and Miss saved Master.” Dilby tilted his head slightly to the side, as if understanding where Hermione’s thoughts had been moving. “Elves never suffer so much until Dark Lord and Evil Witch come to manor.”

Hermione’s arm burned… She could guess who Evil Witch was…

“Dilby remembers Miss.” he continued sadly. “How it was in the manor before the Dark Lord ever came. How it was after. Master hid much form Mistress Cissa and Master Draco. Drinking much. Suffering alone. They didn’t see. But Dilby saw. Servants always see.” The small elf’s eyes grew heavy and dark with some dark distant memory. “Dilby stay with Master, Miss.”

Hermione didn’t know how to respond to the creature. But Dilby stood aside and gestured to the narrower of the two staircases. “Miss will find her destination this way.”   
Hermione looked up the dark stairwell and closed her eyes, stepping closer and feeling the slightest hint of a breeze. As she paused with her hand against the rough stone wall, Dilby snapped his fingers. “Miss can find her way back.”

Hermione looked down and beneath her feet and stretching back the way they’d come, a string of softly glowing magical orbs danced and skipped in place along the floor, but before she could look up and thank the elf, Dilby had disappeared.

Turning back to the stairs, Hermione lifted the hem of her gown and cautiously began her ascent up the winding stairs. She was just about to draw her wand for light when sconces along the wall lit and glowed quietly at her approach one by one and she increased her pace, her heels clacking subtly against the stone. As she reached the top, she could smell fresh air and a wisp of expensive tobacco. 

It was at the top, where the stairwell broke into the open exposure of the roof, that she paused. She had expected to find him here, so she didn’t know why her heart jumped the way it did as if startled. But she saw him in front of her, leaning almost casually against the stone banister, his back against the stone carving of a gargoyle in flight. Pale hair tied back, robes cast off, the white undershirt rolled up at the sleeves as he took another drag from the cigarette in his hand. His posture was resigned, almost defeated as he looked over the heads of the assembled people below off into the distance as if contemplating something distressing. 

Why had she come here?

Hermione suddenly felt like an intruder. He had obviously come here to escape, to be alone. What right did she have to be here at all, what right did she have to presume…  
She moved back a half step, back towards the stairwell and went to turn and quietly return below--

“Don’t go.”

Hermione turned in surprise at the gruff and quiet words.

“I only mean, you don’t need to.” he clarified, finally turning and looking her in the eye. “If I do not have some sensible conversation this evening I may throw myself from the parapets.” A smirk tugged at his lips, his tired eyes taking on a hint of mischief. 

She smiled, at ease with him once more. “And do you need someone to stop you from pitching yourself from the roof?” she asked him.

His eyes lost the trace of amusement and he took another drag from the cigarette. “More than you know.” He sighed. “Forgive me. Do you smoke?”

“No.” she answered. “But don’t feel the need to stop for my sake.”

“Usually I would abstain before a lady.” he said, straightening to stand. “But tonight… I believe I will beg your pardon.”

Hermione bit the inside of her lip thoughtfully. “How did you know it was me?”

Lucius turned and his expression took on an odd look as he gave a short, quiet breath of laughter and a vague gesture of uncertainty.

Yeah, Hermione thought. I don’t know either.

“Well in any case.” Hermione said out loud, walking forward to stand beside him at the banister. “You... looked like you could use a friend.” 

Lucius scoffed in a self deprecating tone. “Was my humiliation that obvious?”

Maybe just to me… she thought.

Lucius turned towards her, a look of surprise on his face and Hermione’s cheeks burned bright red as she realized she’d very much said it aloud. 

“I just mean… you told me the back story.” she said quickly. “I know a bit of what it's been like for you, and for Draco, and most others I’d assume aren’t, so they wouldn’t know… wouldn’t know anything was amiss and I --” she took a breath. His face was hardened but his eyes had softened. “I know it must be difficult for you. To say what you did with things so strained with your son.”

He turned away looking out at the night thoughtfully in silence and Hermione leaned forward into the summer breeze resting on her forearms. She could hear muted conversation and laughter from the garden below as people chatted or looked through the telescopes, but she looked above the darkened treeline, towards the seemingly endless expanse of dark forest and rolling hills against the night sky’s enchanting backdrop. 

“It’s oddly beautiful.” she said softly.

“I’d often come here to think when this was home.” he said as explanation for his presence.

“Isn’t it still?” she asked. A technicality perhaps, even if he didn't physically live there, he was still the patriarch of an old family, was he not? 

Lucius glanced at her, his hands tightening subtly on the banister, before he looked away again. “I chose to leave.” 

Hermione nodded. They stood in silent contemplation, each in their own thoughts, looking down over the scenery below. His expression was still quite haunted, and Hermione suddenly found herself out of sorts. She’d felt a need to come up here to him. She’d even had an idea of the thoughts and assurances she wished to convey… but now she found her tongue glued firmly to the roof of her mouth. 

“I thought I knew what I wanted to say.” she confessed. “But it's all muddled, I… if this is too strange, if I’m just making things awkward… I can--”

“No.” Lucius said quietly but quickly, his hand shot out and covered hers. He looked down at her, his lips parted slightly seemingly stunned at his own reaction and she had frozen in equal surprise. He released her hand quickly, and turned away, taking a few paces from her. “Forgive me. I’m not myself.”

Hermione straightened, her head tilted to the side as she considered him. “It’s tiring keeping up a pretense.” she acknowledged. “The aristocratic, former death eater, pureblood patriarch is allowed to be human. You’re allowed to hurt.”

He turned back at that, looking at her squarely, an expression of deep self reproach on his face. “Am I?” he challenged. 

Hermione smiled and he looked at her in sudden contemplation. The slight smirk curved his lips and the brief brightness in his eyes returned. “You really are irrepressibly idealistic, aren’t you? You see worth in the very lowliest of creatures.”

Hermione laughed under her breath and shrugged in defeat. 

Lucius took the final drag of the cigarette smoldering in his hand and crushed it against the stone banister. “Come. No more of this.”

He walked closer, with the air of a man eager to change the subject and Hermione thought it best to go along. Removing his wand from his pocket, he vanished the ashes and twirled it once more into the air and an old but well cared for telescope appeared between them. “Have you ever done any star gazing, Hermione?”

“I confess, not much.” she smiled. “Though I find the concept of space intriguing, I think divination ruined any form of astronomy or astrology for me. Is it truly believed to be significant for the child?”

Lucius leaned forward, adjusting the antiquated piece of technology. “Admittedly, most out of tradition or suspicion. Star charts are consulted at times, there is an idea of the seasons and alignments imparting traits but…” he straightened and met her eyes with a slight smile. “This is only casual observation.” His eyes sparkled, and he extended his hand. “No tea leaves, or inner eyes, or any such mess.”

Hermione hesitated only a moment before laying her palm against hers. She grit her back teeth together tightly to suppress a sharp breath. That warmth, that gentle, spreading warmth she felt during the dance they’d shared heated her hand as she allowed herself to be tugged towards the stone railing, his other hand at her back casually and briefly. “Usually you can see only a bit of it from Britain, but... with a magical lens… you’ll likely notice Antares first.” She heard the wooden tap against the metal and the previously straightforward lens blurred and cleared and Hermione could see the stars clearer than she’d ever seen them before. The bright, red star indeed drew her eye, as did the subtle hues of the milky way and the evening blacks and blues and violets of the night sky.

“Extraordinary.” she breathed. “Antares… Rival to Mars. Because of the red hue?” she asked, her natural curiosity taking over.

“Yes.” she heard him answer behind her. “One of the oldest constellations.”

“Is this a pureblood custom for these ceremonies?” she asked, straightening back up. “The star viewing?”

“Not exactly.” he replied. “But Astrology has always played a role in the Black family traditions, and naming ceremonies, and Astoria wished to incorporate something to honor Draco’s mother’s family.” 

“When my grandfather was alive he told me how thrilling it was watching the first launch into space.” Hermione said, looking up at the luminary of the moon. 

“Yes.” he acknowledged quietly. “I saw mention of it in that book you caught me with.” There was a moment of silence as Hermione continued gazing through the lens and then he spoke. “Speaking of which, I uh, wanted to thank you. In person. I am… touched… by what you did.”

Hermione was grateful for the darkness of the roof, her cheeks flushed slightly, suddenly unsure of herself under the unexpected intensity in his eyes as he leaned back against the stone. “It was just some books.” she said.

“No. It wasn’t.” Lucius moved from the wall and took a step closer to her. “You were among the worst affected by the policies I, and people like me put forward. By the madman we supported, by the war we started. And instead of finding satisfaction from what happened to me, you found it within yourself to empathize and desired to help me sort it out. You are a remarkable... and humbling woman, Hermione.”

Hermione frowned. “I… I don't mean to humble you. That’s not what I was trying to do.”

“I know.” he said, a furrow in his brow as he looked at her as if he were realizing something for the first time. “That’s what makes you all the more astounding. But…” he continued, drawing his wand again from his vest and holding it in his palm. “It was not only the books I was referring to…”

“Your wand.” she nodded,

“I…” he hesitated. “I feel my letter was inadequate for what you truly did.”

“Oh, well…” Hermione laid her hands on the cool stone of the banister. “I did very little really.”

She didn’t look at him, but from her peripheral vision she saw him come to stand beside her, looking out over the lawn. He was far enough away that she was not distracted by the heat of his body, close enough that she could reach out and touch him… if she wished to...

“That’s because you don’t understand the full weight of what you’ve returned to me.” he said. Lucius pocketed the wand once more. “It's been in my family for a thousand years…”

“Yes!” she said, her scholastic side perking up at the tidbit. “I recall a mention of it in a book on wand lore.”

“It needed to be repaired after... “ he faltered and she knew. “Well. After he damaged it. To have lost it twice was nearly unbearable. It passed to me from my father and when I die, it will pass to Draco and on to Scorpius… you did more than you know.”

Hermione met his eyes, her regret sincere. “It wasn’t without cost. It was simply meant to be a kindness. Yet all I’ve done is gotten you shredded in the papers.”

He smirked. “I've faced far worse believe me. But what of you? Are you managing your own firestorm?”

“Yes well…” she grumbled, thinking of the busybodies from the previous weeks. Hell, months and years at this point. “What use is a golden girl reputation without a bit of tarnish now and then?”

Hermione couldn’t stop a laugh and his eyes glinted back at her lightheartedness. “Is that how you view yourself? As tarnished?”

“No.” she said honestly. “Just aware of how others see me. And a certain tenacious wizard reminded me that I shouldn't be so occupied with that.”

Lucius smiled and they fell into an easy and companionable silence. Hermione leaned forward on her forearms, looking down in amusement at a sudden loud peal of laughter as the dancing had seemed to continue out on the now torch lit lawn, some having clearly indulged in one champagne flute too many. She watched the milling friends and cavorting couples and even a few children darting in and out of the bushes after errant gnomes, their governesses scolding and following them with handkerchiefs and cleansing charms.

But as she watched the content guests and happy couples and families, guilt pricked at her. Her mind wandered to that firestorm he spoke of and how he had encouraged her. More to the point, what Lucius had said to her, explaining the bizarre and backwards thinking that seemed to dominate discussions of her these days and shw once again thought of her arguments with Ron. If she had truly inadvertently paid him the “greatest insult”, declaring him somehow unworthy, how could she amend it without sacrificing her own thoughts, and committing to something she didn’t feel ready for?

“And now who seems lost in dark thoughts?”

Lucius’ voice drew her back to the present and she took a steadying breath with a smile. “Sorry.”

“Not at all.” he said. “May I ask what drew you out into such deep waters?”

“I… well I was thinking about all this hullabaloo, and what you said about a witch who refused marriage and I…” Hermione sighed. “Well, I’m not sure what to do about it.”

A look of confusion shadowed his face momentarily. “Is there something to be done?”

“Well I can’t very well say, ‘I haven’t wanted to get married but the gossips won’t shut up about it so we may as well’, that would be even more insulting, but I’d hate to think that Ron thought that I felt that way. That he wasn’t worthy because that’s not what it's about…”

There was a moment of silence before Lucius spoke again. “Do I strain our new friendship too far to ask, what are you doing with a man you are so opposed to marrying?”

Hermione frowned, folding her arm over her breasts. Vehemently opposed? Was that her? Yes she’d had a strong reaction in the midst of the stress and upheaval of the timing of her pregnancy, and Ron’s sudden proposal, and it stressed and frustrated her when Ron brought it up since, seemingly ignoring her plainly stated concerns on the matter. But… vehement?

But Lucius mistook her pause. “I’m sorry, if I--”

“No,” she stopped him, shaking her head. “No it just caught me off guard I…” her brow furrowed. “I don't think I’ve ever said it aloud.”

It was true. Who could she speak with after all, and confess and weep to? Her mother was missing. Harry was already in the middle of her spats with Ron far too often. And Ginny, bless her, would try and lend a sympathetic ear, but caught between brother and friend was no enviable position even if one was content to call her own brother - “a right arse headed prat”. And who wanted to do that to their friend?

She found herself looking up at Lucius uncertainly. Dare she answer his question?

“There were a lot of reasons.” she said out loud with a sigh.

“I had once asked him to leave I--” 

When she hesitated, Lucius raised his hand in oath. “My silence.”

She nodded slowly. “I’ll spare you the sordid details but…” she huffed in frustration. “Things moved fast. Maybe it was loneliness, maybe it was the chaos of the war and everything that happened. Maybe it was a mistake to get together under those conditions, but we did. And he was feeling neglected. I was busy with school and drafting legislation and … well long story short, he cheated on me. He thought it would make me jealous enough to pay more attention. I asked him to leave but soon found out Rose was on the way, and so… it wasn't about me and Ron anymore it was about her…”

Hermione braced her hands on the stone before her and took a deep, gasping breath. Oh sweet Circe that felt good! To tell someone, anyone, apart from the drama, the simple straightforward truth. To say even that small bit without guarding her words for fear of hurting someone…

He noticed her reaction and chuckled darkly. “Better?”

“Yes!” she laughed. “Yes much.”

“So what will you do about it then?”

Hermione gestured helpfully and gave a short laugh. “What's best for my daughter. Whatever that ends up looking like.”

Lucius nodded thoughtfully but said nothing further, falling into his own thoughts. 

Hermione grinned. “Alright go ahead.”

He looked up, brow furrowed. “What?”

“Ask the question I can see burning in your eyes.” she laughed, gesturing to him. “I can tell. Go ahead.”

He chuckled dryly and nodded slowly in acceptance that in this as well she had him pegged. “And how is Rose?”

Hermione smiled even brighter. “She is beautiful. Wonderful. Thriving in every conceivable way.”

“I’m glad of it.” he said quietly. 

Holding Rose, and speaking of her apparently, had a transformative effect on the older wizard. His eyes softened, his smile lost its forced edge. And she wondered not for the first time how someone capable of such moments of warmth and in her own case, astonishing consideration, could have ever done the things he had. He leaned on the railing beside her and they were shoulder to shoulder, she could have easily leaned into him but she didn’t. Her body tensed at the closeness but it still felt easy and natural. As if she were truly speaking with a friend who had been her confidant all along…

But as she glanced at him her eye was drawn. Lucius’ hands were folded casually as he looked down over the lawn, and she stared at the faded but still visible mark marring his skin, revealed by his rolled up sleeves. 

“You’re allowed to ask.”

Hermione gasped silently and faced straight ahead, embarrassed to have been caught staring. “It doesn't matter.”

She felt his gaze on her still and knew he was staring at her. She shifted uncomfortably, straightening once more, the physical reminder of the dark mark dragging her backwards into Ginny’s caution, the ever present dichotomy of who she knew now... and who she thought she knew then. 

“Doesn’t it?” he asked quietly. 

She looked up again, meeting his eyes. 

“Do you think I believe everything vanishes from memory?” he pressed.

She felt a weight on her chest as she allowed a modicum of the introspection she had been flirting with for weeks.

“I… I told myself it didn’t.” she admitted. “I wasn’t sure what to expect with all this.” she shook her head. “Lucius what changed you? Why the change of heart?”

She could have elaborated, been gratingly specific of the contradictions and questions that spun through her mind when she looked at him, but he didn’t seem to need it. He looked momentarily taken back but his lips pressed into a thin line. “More… a change of purpose. I was born, bred and raised to a singular frame of mind and a single task of importance.”

“Preserving bloodlines.” she supplied.

“With such surety of mind the life, heart and soul are forced to follow. Or be beaten into silence.”

His face darkened, and she wanted to ask how that self flagellation progressed, but refrained. “So what broke the training?”

His brow furrowed in contemplation once more. “You know… I don’t believe I’ve ever given it thought, let alone spoke the words.”

Hermione smiled gently and raised her hand. “My silence?” she offered in turn.

Lucius smirked and then nodded. “It is… difficult to pinpoint one singular thing I suppose. When it was all said and done, there was nothing not destroyed by paradox. I wanted my family to be safe. Yet the one I served to meet those ends was their greatest threat. I sought to protect our world from what I saw as interlopers. Yet the one that was supposed to lead the charge sought his own power and left our world in ruin. I suppose it all began to fall away piece by piece. Until I hardly knew myself.”

Hermione nodded slowly, processing that bit of information. “Emotional epiphany as a result of logic. Intriguing.”

Lucius sighed and turned his back on the scenery in front of them, leaning against the railing. “I have never led with my heart or conscience Hermione. I’m not sure I know how to.”

“You led by conscience when you found me.” she suggested.

Hermione looked up with a quirked brow as Lucius turned away in apparent frustration. “It doesn’t change what I’ve done.”

He was facing away from her totally now but she could see the storm of guilt mixing with the strain of the evening. This time she ignored the part of her mind that told her better and reached out to him, laying her hand against his back. “No. Maybe not. But it makes me see you.”

Hermione felt him freeze and she wondered briefly if she had said something wrong, done something untoward and unappreciated, but then he turned back to her, with a deeply disturbed and uncertain look on his face. “Yes.” he acknowledged. “You do see me, somehow… more of me than I think anyone else ever has.”

“You can make others see you too.” she ventured quietly.

Lucius looked away briefly and then back to her, stepping closer. “Hermione I… must confess something.”

Hermione’s heart inexplicably began to pound. “Yes?”

“What I said before was true.” he forced out, looking ill. “I am not so monstrous as you think and I would not have abandoned you in the woods that day… but… there is a more self serving thought that crossed my mind… That I had left you helpless, in torment and without aid on the ground once before. And I could not bear to do it again.”

Hermione’s breath caught. “Oh… oh Lucius.” Hermione bit her lip, wondering how to put into words the conflicting thoughts and emotions she had been trying to sift through since the moment he had come to her. “Of all the things I have blamed you for… that wasn't one of them. Even now, here, in this house, it’s not what comes to mind. When I think of it…” Hermione swallowed, her breath feeling constricted. “I don’t see this place… just.. Her… the crazy in her eyes, the details of the knife… her cursing, biting, cutting. The sound of… of Ron screaming to take him instead.” She looked up. He was watching her intently and she could feel tears stinging her eyes but she pressed on. “Yes. Sometimes I hear your voice.” Pain flashed in his face and she continued. “Telling her you could find out the information easily if you asked the goblin. I clung to that.” she folded her hands together tightly to keep from shaking. “And I’m ashamed. I’m so ashamed because I wanted her to get the goblin! Anything to make it stop!” 

The last bit came out in a rushed, half sob, and she bowed her head. At some point, unnoticed by her, his hands had come to her arms in a reflexive gesture of comfort, her hand against his chest that she realized was heaving in bare restraint. 

“Any lingering... anger or resentment I might have felt for you…” she collected herself. “Lucius, it evaporated that day in the woods. After what happened… I… it was all just too raw and intense and I just can't find any hatred or anger in my heart for you. I don’t care what you’ve done, or thought or said… you saved my little girl. That overshadows the rest of it.”

Lucius stared at her with a thoroughly odd expression on his face and melded into uncertainty. “I have no grand justification for the things I did.” he said. “I was raised a certain way and I didn't challenge it until it was too late.” he shook his head. “It’s not poetic or substantial. I was what I was. I hope now to be something different. Its all I have to lay before you. Can you find it in your heart to judge me for who I am, now?”

Hermione felt choked. The regret and raw pain on his face took the wind from her lungs but not so much as when he moved just enough to take her hand in his larger one. 

“Can you ever forgive me?” he continued. “Not because of what we experienced, not because I helped you or saved your daughter. Can you forgive me… as a man. For everything I have done – and not done – that I regret more each day and more bitterly than I can tell you.

“Yes, Lucius.” She answered softly without thinking. “I can.”

Lucius’ eyes softened and a smile curved her lips in return. He was just about to speak, but suddenly a sharp and loud crack rang out. Hermione gasped, panic knifing through her. Her mind’s eye spun backwards, and disjointed sounds and sights rushed at her. Gunshots, smoke, Rose screaming, the sight and smell of blood… too much blood. Not again!!

“No!” Hermione cried, throwing herself forward into Lucius’ body, her arms around his neck. 

Her eyes were shut tightly, but she felt his breath at her throat, warm and steady, and she opened her eyes, her breath coming steadier and she remembered where she was. Lucius’ body was warm, strong pressed against hers, her breasts crushed against his chest, her face buried against his neck. His arms had come around her waist to catch her. She drew back, looking up into his shocked face, illuminated and highlighted in the multi colored glow of fireworks breaking against the sky. 

“Hermione.” he said, searching her face, the barest of distances from her breathlessly parted lips. “Hermione, I…”

Hermione let go of him quickly, hand pressed to her cheek in mortification as she practically leapt backwards away from him. “I should go.”

“Hermione, wait--”

“Have a good evening, Mr. Malfoy.” she said in a rush, backing away and turning on her heel. Heart pounding, face flaming, Hermione ran down the spire stairs and through the manor following Dilby’s glowing trail to the front door and apparated away from the manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two had quite a bit to talk about. Hopefully the air is clearer and cards are all on the table! Fireworks don’t seem to be the only sparks being stirred up...


End file.
